


Star-Crossed

by cincoflex, starhawk2005



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Ancient Egypt, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Cat-and-Mouse Game, D/s, F/M, Fun with icicles, Het, Jotun!Loki, Jotun!Star (!!), Jotun!sex, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki comes to the rescue, Loki discovers he's a chocoholic, Loki needs Anger Management, Massage, Muzzling, Odin is a class-A dick, Ooops don't piss Star off, Pegging, Smut, Spanking, Strapping, Thor and Frigga are awesome, Vibrators, Worldbuilding, clone!sex, crack!fic, fun with pinwheels, loki's issues have issues, male!dom and fem!dom, my kinks let me show them to you, rope dress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 196,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crack!fic; a smut-fic author discovers that the Norse god she’s been writing fics about is….real. And horny. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: We don’t own Loki. He owns US.  
> Authors’ Note: This is rather… _experimental_. Starhawk wrote the OC’s POV, and Cincoflex wrote Loki’s, so it’s kind of a blend of fic and roleplay….
> 
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> Banner made by **cincoflex**!
> 
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> Oh, and here's a little visual aid:
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She shivers, watching the portal of green fire twist in the middle of the living room. She cannot believe it - _he_ \- is real. 

It had started innocently enough. Life was not cooperating, and just to blow off steam, she’d blogged an ‘open letter’ to Loki, asking him why he was determined to ruin her life.

She’d laughed, her commenters had laughed, and that was the end of it. Or so she thought.

A week later, the message. Appearing mysteriously in the middle of the Word document (yes, an erotic fanfiction!) she was working on. It claimed to be from Loki, and it mocked her, telling her he had ruined her life the better to encourage her to focus her writing and her attentions entirely on _him_.

That was where it began.

She had mocked him right back, engaging him in a battle of sharpened wits, and at some point, things had become....seductive. 

She found herself wanting to believe it _was_ Loki, and not some hacker with a thing for Marvel-flavoured kink. 

When he tempted her with bed-games they could play, she met him fantasy for fantasy. When he chided her for defying him and threatened to ‘correct’ her, she told him it was _about time_.

When he told her: _By the time the sun sets I expect you to offer yourself—meekly and obediently—for discipline. You have been sulky and headstrong in our negotiations and while it was amusing at first, I cannot allow it to go any further, not without correction,_ she laughed at the sheer absurdity.

So the green portal shimmering before her is....a surprise.

She thinks she knows where it goes. One of his messages to her had said he maintained something he called a ‘pocket universe’, a place where he could remain safe from prying eyes like those of Heimdallr. He’d told her it was a valley, ringed around with old, dark pines, silvered eternally with frost.

But that is not what stirs her fears. If this is real, does she really _desire_ this? It is one thing to tease and play pretend. If this is real, if Loki is real, then she could be playing with fire. And the immortal is unlikely to be the one burned.

Curiosity and need wins out. And although she had promised to appear before him, naked and on her knees for his punishment, she finds herself searching a little-used drawer, trying to find something acceptable, enticing. Something that might lessen the keen edge of punishment, if possible.

She finds something wedged at the very back of the drawer. She acquired this a long time ago. It is black and sheer, panties that edged with black lace. Above the lacy waistband is a part resembling a corset, made of sheer black fabric that clings and softly hugs her curves, stretching halfway up her ribs. More black lace down the front, and the back is slit from the top of the corset to just above the curve of her backside, this slit held closed by cross-tied black ribbon....it may serve. She strips down and steps into it, praying her Dark Prince will like it. 

She stands in front of the portal, taking a deep breath. She steps through, her vision fading into a green glow.

When her eyes work again, she’s in a long room. She can see polished slate stone floors covered with wolf-skin rugs, and one end of the room is dominated by a throne of ancient yew and pale marble, heavily carved with runes. Next to it is a small cushion of thick grey rabbit fur. And she knows exactly who that cushion is intended for. His pet.

_ Her. _

At the other end of the room is a large bed, luxurious and opulent, adorned with elaborately carved ivory bedposts that end in snakeheads with jeweled eyes. The mattress is piled with pillows of black and gold, the bedclothes obviously made from the finest fabrics - wool, silk, fur.

In front of the bed is a thick carpet with an exquisite border of dragons and serpents, and on that is a seat of gold, backless and with low arms, upholstered with a velvet cushion of green.

On _that_ lounges a long and impatient figure.

His gaze burns into hers. “My patience is not endless!”

“Oh shit,” she mutters under her breath before she can stop herself. Then she freezes; the mouse before the snake. All plans of defending herself shattering to pieces before his beauty.

Loki glares. “Do NOT add tardiness to your punishment.”

She goes to her knees immediately, and then remembers herself. She does not know why, but whenever she wrote to him, she found herself mirroring his odd sentence construction, and she finds the same thing happening now. Even her thought processes have been invaded. She no longer _thinks_ like the modern human woman from the year 2013, that she was before she stepped through the green ring of fire appearing in her home.

“Please forgive me, my Lord, but although I promised to appear to you in the nude, I thought you might enjoy it even more if I wore _this_. Alas, it took me longer than I expected to find it.” Better she tell him that, than the truth; that she had not believed he was real.

“I . . . approve. In this circumstance I will permit it.” Loki rises and circles, gaze missing nothing. “Are you cold?”

She looks down at herself. She is bare to the waist - she had no brassiere which matched - and her nipples are hardened. It _is_ chilly in here, though it could also be the burning weight of Loki’s assessment of her form. She prays that he likes what he sees....

“A little, my Lord Loki. Thank you for your concern,” she smiles, but can’t quite bring herself to raise her gaze to his. “But I can bear it, for you.”

Loki smiles, revealing dimples. There is a glow to his eyes, a hint of ruby that gleams out. “And so you shall. Given what is to come, you may need cooling down.”

He moves to the golden seat and drops himself into it, watching his pet. “Rise and turn for me; I would like to see more of what you are . . . almost wearing.”

She restrains an amused noise at his choice of words - ‘‘almost-wearing’, indeed- and she rises to her feet, slowly turning to let him examine her from every angle. At least she feels the heavy weight of his smoky gaze a little less when her back is to him.

She turns to face him again, shifting from foot to foot as the silence becomes oppressive. “Do you like what you see, my Prince? Did I choose my attire well, even if it made me late to our....appointment?” she finally asks. Anything to break the thick silence. She has not even truly had a chance to _look_ at him, she has been too occupied trying to mollify him. 

Because she has no idea how far he’ll try to take her. How much ‘correction’ he expects her to withstand. She bites her lip, waiting for his response, finally daring to look up at him to assess his mood. He’s wearing a dark green shirt, black leather pants, and black boots, she notices at last.

Loki brings a hand to his chin, gazing at her with keen interest. “You’re nervous. It adds a luster to your eyes. I rather like that.” 

She manages a small laugh. “I fail to see how I could NOT be nervous, my Lord. I was brought here to be punished, after all.” She lowers her gaze again. “And after that, I do not know what you will do with me. So many things we discussed - collaring, ‘grooming’, games with gems, and relentless teasing of certain.... _sensitive_ areas. I know not what you have in store for me at all, my Dark Lord.”

He motions her forward, sliding one hand under her chin to lift it, locking gazes with her. His smile is small and his gaze intense. “The not knowing . . . that’s part of what excites you. I know it does, I can _feel_ it does. Oh little Star of mine, your heart is speeding up even now.”

Loki can see her breathing deepen, and he lets his fingers slide away from her chin, one by one before speaking again. “I know what you are trying to do, pet, and charming though your seduction attempt is, I still must punish you. Oh you look lovely, and I confess your choice of garment is . . . distracting, but you _have_ transgressed, and need to learn that I always mean what I say. Tell me pet, confess. How have you been a bad, bad girl?”

It’s his best croon, the low, seducer’s tone that has gotten him invited into many a bed, but this time it comes naturally, easily as he watches the girl in front of him. There is still a hint of defiance to her bare shoulders and the temptation of her perky breasts almost distracts him.

She stirs him, oh yes she does. She’s a bold one at times, and the night is looking very promising indeed as he waits for her to speak up.

She blushes. “You do not know what I had planned to do if you had refused me again this night. And I am also realizing that I failed to discuss something very important with you.”

His brows draw together, and Loki glares. “I refused you? Oh how rich the impertinence! You are dealing with a god, not some brainless Midgardian male that you bat your eyes at!”

She can feel some of her _other_ self (from the other side of the portal) fighting to return. “Stop putting my people down. I told you I was ready last night to submit, and you ignored me. What else should I call it?” She matches him glare for glare. 

Loki draws a breath and forces himself to relax as he leans back in the chair. “No. I see I must be mistaken. You’re not ready yet, not fully aware that my time is not yours, and that no-one--”

She steps back, shaking her head. “This is so not working. I didn’t- I wasn’t- What the hell am I supposed to do _now_?” 

He reaches for her, catches one hand and pulls her to stand between his knees as he meets her gaze. “I. Am. A. God. I cannot promise to be at your beck and call, but I can assure you that ignoring you is not what I want to do.”

“Are men the same _everywhere_? You’re picking up on exactly the wrong thing. I thought you wanted me to tell you what I was going to do when you left me alone. I did NOT want you to jump on me like I was accusing you of abandoning me! I wasn’t trying to say you wanted to ignore me.”

He laughs. “Perhaps this is why I am the god of fools. Clearly I need to listen to my OWN words. Shall we try again, luscious little hell-cat?”

“I don’t know. I have a bad feeling that there are pit-traps lying in wait for me everywhere, and no matter what I say, somehow it will wind up being the wrong thing.” She stares down at the floor. Or tries to. She is standing too close to _him_.

The scent of her skin, touched with musk, arousal and tension makes him tense. Loki slides a hand around one of her hips and lets his touch linger even as he blows lightly along her shoulder. “You have been sulky and disobedient. I have been foolish. Therefore we need to . . . rectify ourselves.” 

Talk is not going to work, she decides. Instead, she kneels down between his feet and bows her head. And puts her hand lightly on his thigh. “Since I cannot seem to please you with my words, my Lord, tell me what I can _do_ to please you.” This has to be the safer path, if there is one. Maybe there isn’t.

Her throat is so dry. “If you wish to punish me, then I beg you to begin. Tell me how and where you want me to position myself. I have displeased you, and I continue to displease, apparently. So I beg you to allow me to set it right, Loki.” Then she resolves not to say anything else, if it can be helped.

Except, there is still that one _small_ matter. She bites her lip and stares down at the carpet beneath them. “And should you decide you want to have sex with me, we need to think about some kind of birth control. I’m not prepared to have another kid, and I don’t think you’d find me too much fun to be around when I’m pregnant -- I get tired easily and have _zero_ interest in sex. Not that you probably find me that much fun right now,” she adds, the last sentence a lot softer than the rest. _Then_ she resolves not to say anything else, if she can possibly help it. This is not going at all the way she predicted or wanted.

Loki reaches a hand down and encircles her slender wrist, feeling the warmth of her skin. He thinks to himself how much he wants this girl, how her very nearness is making him hyper-aware of his needs.

“Across my lap,” he tells her, his deep voice slightly raspy. “And when you are there, I will tell you not only what I’m going to do, but what will follow after.”

She gets up slowly, trying to ignore how her legs are trembling. She circles even more slowly around to the side of the chair, as if she is walking to face the executioner, aware of his hand still firm around her wrist, of how his eyes are locked on her bared breasts. 

There is something so decadent about being half-naked in this opulent setting, and she would be enjoying it so very much more, if she were less anxious about what was coming. 

She is not sure how to settle herself on him, but Loki solves the dilemma, drawing her forward by the wrist until she is laid face-down across his lap, arranged the way he wants her -- head and breasts hanging down, her backside poised high in the air. She feels his hand on her inner thigh, pressing her legs wider apart, and she does not resist, even though she _wants_ to. She bites her lip hard as she attempts to empty her mind; if she thinks too much about what’s coming, she might just panic, and she cannot imagine that _that_ will end well.

His thighs are like steel underneath her, the scent of leather and pure _maleness_ envelops her. And she can feel _him_ , aroused and rampant, pressing into her side. She shivers, trying to decide where to place her hands. On his thigh? Let them dangle free in front of her? Tuck them down next to her own sides? But then her arm would be pressed to the bulge in his pants--

“This lace is pretty, but under it, your tender skin . . .” he drawls, big hand gliding up one rounded cheek, “is very soft. Now listen carefully, little hell-cat. You have vexed me approximately six times in the last few days. Because I am a good master I have kept count, you see, and now . . . now _you_ will keep count for _me_. I think that for six moments of sulky defiance you more than _deserve_ six smacks.”

She tries to move her arm, but Loki lifts it and folds it so that the outside of her wrist lies at the small of her back; the way it would if she had them crossed there at parade rest. 

The other he keeps a grip on.

“I’m tempted to bind you, but now is not the time. Consider it a little test of your self-control,” he murmurs thoughtfully, his long fingers in a loose hold around her wrist.

She says nothing. Six blows, she can take six blows. She can do this. Then she realizes Loki is waiting for an answer. “Yes, my Prince.”

“Trying to be a good girl now won’t stop me,” he purrs back, secretly amused and seriously aroused. What _is_ it about this girl that gets under his skin like this?

She does not know what to say to that. But he’s waiting _again_ , damn him. Honesty might work, she tries that: “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Why does he not _just get on with it_?

Loki draws in a quick breath, and lets his hand rise and drop, hard. The resounding smack is loud in the quiet room, and his palm stings with sweet pleasure even as he feels himself throb.

_ Gods. This is delicious _ ! he thinks, fighting to stay calm. Under him he feels Star flinch, a little gasp chuffing out of her as much of surprise as pain.

It hurts, but not as bad as she expected. “One,” she says, but she clenches her jaw in anticipation, because it can only get worse from here.

Loki lets his hand slide off her cheek reluctantly, and cocks it again, gritting his teeth. She weighs nothing, and yet the heat of her . . .

She feels Loki shift underneath her, his arousal rubbing against her bent arm. She tenses a little more, waiting for the next blow. She’s not going to cry out, damn it. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

He strikes, the blow swift and stinging, this one on the other cheek, and the crack is satisfyingly sweet. Loki rubs the spot a moment and gives a low chuckle. “ _Number_ , or I will have to add another stroke to the punishment.”

“Two,” she grits out. Of course he _would_. She ignores the heat building between her thighs, or at least she makes an effort to do so. Her arousal is a victory for him too, isn’t it?

He blows a breath down on her skin, letting his frost breath ever-so-lightly kiss the pinkening surface of her ass.

She jerks at the coolness, clenching her hands into fists. 

“How you fight it, that streak of rebellion in you,” Loki rumbles with delight. “You’re trying so hard not to react and yet your entire body is on edge.” 

His is too, he knows, but it’s not important. Not AS important as hers right now. Loki sends another stinging blow against her ass, noting his finger-marks against her skin.

She is ready this time, so when the blow lands, she turns the sound wrenched out of her throat into the required number at the same time. “Three,” she barks. Halfway there. It _hurts_ , though. He’s not hitting her harder, but her skin is hypersensitive now. Sweat springs out all over her body, and tears prickle in her eyes, but she blinks them away quickly.

Then he is massaging her again, _caressing_ much of the sting away, and she feels another icy exhalation curl around her hip. There’s an insistent throbbing between her wide-splayed thighs, her body responding almost without her will to his gentler touches. He knows from their previous messages how interested she is in his Jotunn side, in how his cold touch might feel -- no doubt that is part of his game, too.

He’s playing her like an instrument, each pain followed by its soothing. Keeping her on edge, just as he said he would.

Loki breathes deeply, taking in the scent of her arousal, aware of the lovely cleft of her ass, and the hint of curls visible between her thighs. The rosy heat of her cheeks looks marvelous, and he throbs, feeling his cock strain against Star’s light weight. Every smack so far has brought matters into sharp focus.

“Halfway done,” he sighs. “How you must hate me. Poor little pet humiliated like this because even though she’s furious, she’s so very, very aroused. I can feel you, I can _smell_ the honey of your need, Puss.”

_ Then  _ fucking _do something about it,_ she wants to scream. But that would be little more than playing right into his hands, so she merely says: “Yes, my Lord,” because he’s surely expecting some kind of response, and maybe that one will get her in the least amount of trouble. Then she tightens her jaw until it aches and glares straight ahead through the locks of hair that have fallen over her face, half-blinding her, and says nothing more. No doubt he’s looking for any excuse to add to her punishment, and she won’t give him that. 

The ribbon running down between her thighs is slick now, and Loki hooks a finger under it, tugging up and making the girl squirm slightly. He grins. “Be still . . . oh, you can’t, can you? Rather too much sensitivity right now, my naughty pet?” He really must provide more lingerie like this, Loki muses. The potential is delightful. 

Still, there is the matter of her delectable ass, and he strikes again, managing to aim the blow low; between the rounded bottom of her ass and the soft crease of her upper thighs. Loki knows the sting of it will flush through and along the insides of her legs, heating more of the soft fur there.

He waits, savoring this lovely moment--will she remember to count?

She flinches, surprise finally drawing a whimper out of her. Sharp tingles and heat seem to sizzle from the hot palm of his hand into her skin, and then radiate deep into her core. She arches her back before she can stop herself, wishing her body would stop _responding_ \-- even her nipples are prickling to attention. 

Now he’s found a way to hurt and excite her _at the same time_.

Bastard. “Four,” she snarls, but she can’t stop herself squeezing her thighs together. _Only two left, only two left,_ she chants inside her mind.

Loki forces himself to calm down a bit, although it’s a serious challenge to his self-control. To have her warm weight pressing down on his erection in just the right way, to feel the heat radiating from her is dizzying. A part of him wonders if it’s part of Jotunn nature to seek heat and master it. He trails his fingers along the inside of her thigh, enough to be felt, to torment.

She wriggles and he strikes, a wide-palmed smack that makes a meaty sound. 

_ This _ , Loki thinks with a mental growl, _is very nearly addictive._ There is fire in his pet, and her grind against him is making it nearly impossible to concentrate. 

She chokes out the number, her voice husky now, so he reaches for the bow at the top of the corset, tugging it impatiently, one finger working the laces loose. “Shhhh, you can take more,” he croons.

“ _One_ more, my Lord,” she rasps out, without thinking about the possible consequences, that he might choose to interpret this as more rebellion and decide to add on a few more spanks. 

She can feel him loosening each lacing of the corset one at a time, then softly, ticklishly stroking her bared skin, working his slow way down towards her abused posterior. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. His length is pressing into her side, hard, and some impulse makes her wriggle against it. The faster she can goad him into delivering the last smack, the sooner this will end, she hopes--

He dangles the cool satin string along one reddened cheek, aware that his pet is still pushing a bit, but he’s enjoying it now, anticipating each little move. “One more?”

She tenses all her muscles. “Yes, please, Loki,” she manages to say. To _lie._

An idea occurs to him; devious, slightly cruel, but perfect. Loki delivers the last strike, and leaves his hand braced on her stinging skin. Swiftly, he lets his Jotunn form cover his hand, the chill radiating immediately against her abused skin, coldly.

He swears he can almost _hear_ the sizzle.

This isn’t like the previous blows. There’s the expected sting and then.... _ice_. She nearly jumps out of her skin. “What the hell-!” she sputters, fully aware of Loki laughing wickedly at her reaction. The sensation seeps into her skin, coolness cancelling out the heat, and she shudders and goes limp, resting her head against his thigh. “You’re a bastard,” she says, without much conviction.

He chuckles again, and suddenly the touch is lighter, almost tender. “I am, in many ways. You deserve a bite for that. I punish you, and even _now_ you try to curse me. What a beautifully fractious creature you are.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” she mutters.

“Mmmmm. I _want_ you,” he adds, the words conversational, but his hands roaming now, moving to tickle the backs of her knees. 

“Yikes!” she jerks away - she’s definitely sensitive there. “Then stop teasing and just. Get. On. With. It.”

Loki manages to scoop her up and rise all in one strong motion, his tone huskier. “Pushy, I believe you Midgardians call it. Were my need not so great I would prolong this, but like a good master I sense you need _me_.” 

“Christ, do you ever stop _talking_?” She grabs his face in her hands and kisses him. Hard.

He opens his mouth, the purr of a laugh against her lips as he waits for her tongue.

It darts against his, sugar-hot and questing, eager. Loki quickly catches her tongue with his teeth, lightly raking it, letting his senses savor her taste. 

She twists fingers tightly into his hair. He was the aggressor, now it’s her turn. She explores his mouth hungrily, trying not to smile at his low moan -- _surprised you, did I, God of Mischief?_ But she realizes it’s getting dangerous now, unless she can make him understand--

She breaks the kiss, stating firmly against his mouth. Three words: “Birth. Control. _Loki_.” Raising the child of a god of chaos? No thanks.

He shakes his head slightly, his lips brushing over hers. “Hush now,” he whispers, but she’s not done. “And you’re wearing way too many clothes,” she adds in a growl, pulling at the collar of his shirt, but he cuts her off with more kisses, wet and deep, hungry. 

He feels control slipping now as the wolf within him rises. Star squirms and tries to wrap herself around him but he carries her in a few quick steps to the bed dropping her there and leaning over her, smirking. He strips out of his shirt, not missing the admiring gaze she runs down his chest and lean arms. “I should say _you_ are wearing too many clothes as well,” he purrs down at her.

He reaches fingers to the top edges of the now-loose corset and tugs; it slides down and stops mid-thigh, exposing the delicate nest of curls neatly framed between her hips. Loki laughs at her slightly stunned expression, and purses his lips. “Caught like the little hare you are.”

She moves to push the corset down even further, but Loki catches her wrists and presses them to the mattress pinning them next to her hips. He leans further down and runs his nose along her pubic curls breathing in deeply. The perfume of her lust makes him painfully hard now, and when he looks up the planes of her body he can see the flushed peaks of her nipples pebbled and stiff.

She struggles, wanting him, wanting _more_ , but she’s well and truly caught.

Carefully Loki presses a kiss, letting his tongue flick along the wet seam under that fur, and even as his pet gives a quick, pleasured cry, he flips her over. Her hands fly to brace herself, but he catches the corset and pulls up, arching her with her lovely ass in the air, the posture familiar from mere moments ago.

She tries to protest, but before she can do more than begin a threat, Loki nips one red cheek and then the other, quick light bites that aren’t meant to hurt, only to make her shudder.

When she does, he hooks his hands under her thighs and begins to lick the backs of them, letting his tongue move along that tender skin just at the crease of buttock and thigh.

Delicious. The taste of salt and musk, a hint of perfume and the ripe scent of arousal drive him on, and Loki lets his kisses push deeper, reaching the same wet seam. He sucks, licks, nibbles, as she tries frantically to open her legs against the bind of the corset. 

She arches desperately, needing to expose herself more fully, but he’s intent on tormenting her, it seems. She pants and whimpers, heat and pressure swirling from where his tongue and teeth are tantalizing her.

Wetter and wetter now, and the urge to take her from behind is making him throb, but instead--

Panting now, he pulls the corset off and gives a tender nudge. His pet rolls on one hip, her eyes huge and full of fire. She reaches for his fly, scrabbling to free his cock, and then pushing his trousers down from his hips. It takes a moment, and when her small hands caress him Loki hisses, fighting hard against the pleasure of seeing his thick prick filling her grip, of feeling her reverent strokes along his length.

That doesn’t last long though--she pulls impatiently at _his_ hips, her legs slithering around his thighs as her hissed curses fill the air. Loki runs one big hand up her stomach to cup the underside of one breast and leans down, letting her guide him to the cleft between her legs.

“ _Loki_ ,” she says by way of warning and reminder. But even he can see the battle within her, lust about to declare victory over logic and apprehension.

“My seed will not find purchase within you,” he whispers hoarsely and thrusts.

The mad, luscious heat of her cunt forces a growl from him, makes him shake even as he thrusts again, driving deep with a lovely squelch. She is ready, SO ready and Loki lets his lust free, hips rocking hard to hers, his hands cupping the hot globes of her ass. No thoughts, just fevered kisses and the perfect primitive rhythm of their bodies grinding together wetly. The crest rises, and he feels himself moving harder and faster, feels his pet begin to shudder. 

She can’t catch her breath, head thrown back on the pillows, her backside aching sweetly from the pressure of his fingers. Waves of sensation tear through her each time he buries himself inside her to the hilt, robbing her of any ability to think. She can only hold on and let him break her apart.

Her hands clutch his ribs, and all along his aching shaft her tight quim _squeezes_ in powerful, sensual pulses that . . . oh gods . . . that . . .Loki feels himself roar as thick surges pump out of him, each splash lost in the slick depths that are milking him.

It takes the last of his control not to collapse on top of Star, but he manages to brace himself on his forearms in wobbly fashion, breathless, bowed and empty. Loki lifts his head, seeking her face, wanting something he cannot name.

She looks up at him, hair tangled and damp around her face, cheeks flushed, but her eyes! Oh her eyes are deep and dark, drinking him in, filled with . . . wonder.

_ Oh God, that was....was.... _ ‘amazing’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. She doesn’t even want to move, ever again, if she can help it. Blanketed in sweat, heavy-limbed, she looks up at him and smiles. 

He drops a kiss on her mouth--not the heavy possessive kiss, but instead a quiet, almost shy kiss because he cannot take much of what she holds in that gaze.

He shifts down and curls up around her, laying his head on her stomach, enveloped in her warmth as he wraps her tightly in his arms. Her fingers curl through his hair again, stroking his scalp as if he is _her_ pet, and he’ll _allow_ it for now, he decides. He’ll permit her to rest, but _then_ \--

She blushes as a loud, angry rumble emanates from her belly. Right under Loki’s ear. “Thank you, digestive system, for ruining the moment,” she retorts sarcastically, though she also smiles.

Loki looks up at her and smirks. She even speaks defiantly to herself. Such an _amusing_ little pet he has acquired. With care he strokes her stomach in a slow and meandering way.

“The care and feeding of a pet,” he murmurs. “Stay here.”

He closes his eyes, letting the magic force solidify into ghostly hands, and soon the scent of a savory stew begins to grow from the heavy iron pot in the fireplace. Loki rises from the bed, absently tucking himself back into his trousers and concentrates again. This is difficult, since the sight of his lovely toy sprawled across it is both charming and arousing. The temptation to simply take her once again rises, but he senses care over lust is what the moment calls for.

More magic, and this time four pairs of ghostly hands are shifting stones along the floor, opening a portal that reveals itself to be a steaming pool at the bottom of circling stone steps. Loki holds his arms out to his sides and the hands shift, finally undressing him fully, taking each item away and carrying it off to a large wooden chest beyond the bed. It’s self-indulgent of course; Loki knows he could just as easily undress himself and do it quicker, but he senses eyes upon him, and his vanity is piqued.

He hopes she likes what she is seeing. He is no Asgardian of brawn and rounded muscle, no massive mountain hewn like a glacier. No, Loki knows his lines are long and sinewy, length favored over bulk. He has muscle, yes, but it’s hidden at times, and kept from view, all the better to fool his foes. Fortunately legends of the Jotunn are accurate when it comes to stories of pricks, and Loki knows his own endowment is more than enough to draw envy from those who sit in the Allfather’s hall. Even Thor has admitted some envy; a minor point but one that Loki remembers with masculine pride.

She rolls slowly up into a sitting position, watching the unusual proceedings. Christ, he’s _gorgeous_ , though she’s not sure whether telling him so would be a good idea. He’ll probably either turn insufferably smug, or mock her for thinking a God’s body could be anything other than sheer perfection. Best to comment on more neutral things: “Boy, it sure would be nice to have _that_ ability when I got home from the office!” she notes enviously, motioning at the stewpot.

Loki sees the blush on her cheeks though, and knows a distraction when he hears one. Settling for a robe of pale green linen, he returns to the bed and holds out a hand to her. “Leave those matters back on your world,” he orders, gently. “This is a time for us, not the realms we belong to.”

She looks slightly rebellious and slightly embarrassed; Loki tugs her up from the mattress admiring her sleek nudity. A fine-featured thing is she; delicate and yet no child, with hips to cradle him and legs to ride him. Those thoughts stir Loki again, and he makes no attempt to hide it.

And his pet notices, yes she does. Even as she gives a little gasp, he slides an arm around her waist and steers her towards the spiraling steps. “Care first, then feeding; is this not how one tames a kitten?”

There’s a glint in her eyes that makes Loki think he will _pay_ for that remark, but she follows him down the steps until they reach the bottom, where the rocky pool steams enticingly. As a creature of rock and ice, Loki is sensitive to both setting and temperature, so while the water is hot, it’s bearable, and he helps Star in, watching her pale skin turn rosy in the steam. The ends of her hair drift in the water as she lowers herself and luxuriates in the sensations. As for himself, Loki finds the water soothing and refreshing--after all, what is water but ice with heat?

One pair of the ghostly hands carefully lifts her hair and piles it up, securing it with a sleek wooden pin carved like a serpent. The hands drift away, and in the light of the oil lamps Loki leans back to watch his pet play.

This is new, this sensation. Seeing someone enjoying something he has made. Seeing someone happy to be with him. Loki feels an odd twist in his chest; fear and longing and over it, a sense of rare delight. He doesn’t understand, and he’s afraid to lose it.

She can understand why Loki might want her to leave her home on the other side of the portal, but then what exactly are they supposed to talk about? His choice of home furnishings? The workings of the spell required to conjure ghostly disembodied hands (useful but rather odd, in her considered opinion)? How To Train Your Disembodied Hands?

Instead, she only says: “Thank you,” gives him a warm smile, and leans back against the rock wall of the pool, closing her eyes and relaxing as much as she can; her backside still aches faintly, and there’s also the matter of Loki’s penetrating gaze fixed on her -- she is well aware of it, even if she can’t see it. 

His earlier ‘kitten’ comment comes back to her, and she begins humming Whitesnake’s ‘Kitten’s Got Claws’ softly to herself, stretching out her arms and legs in the hot water, smirking. 

Loki watches her. He admires the curve of her throat, the gleam of water along her shoulders. A sense of possessiveness threads through his thoughts and he smiles to himself as he lets one foot hook around her leg under the water. He wants her closer; within his touch, and will let his gaze tell her so. Will his pet understand without having to verbalize it? 

So much to learn, he thinks. She is a proud thing, intelligent in her own right, full of opinions and ready to challenge him not only in matters sensual, but on nearly every other topic as well. Loki wonders if she knows what she truly wants in this  . . . arrangement of theirs.

He wonders himself. There have been others--not Midgardian--who have caught his fancy and helped him learn the sensual pleasure of command. It’s a natural instinct, a basic drive for a Jotunn male such as he. Those in Asgard are stirred only by war and battle; in rutting there is an equality to their pairings that while enjoyable lacks the sweet edge that comes with taking control.

In all his years growing up under Odin Loki thought he was the twisted one, the strange one as he hid his erotic desires and sensual dreams. Only _now_ does he know his true nature, and the freedom to embrace it is gratifying, particularly with such a fetching pet.

She smirks a little more at Loki’s touch. She has a saucy reply lined up, in case it is her humming he’s taken issue with: ‘What, there’s a rule against Midgardian earworms, too? Be grateful it’s not ‘Gangnam Style’, my _Lord_.’

But when she opens her eyes and looks at him, his expression is....many things. Possessiveness, perhaps a touch of unease, but also full of desire...

She wades the short distance over to him, placing both hands lightly on his chest and smiling up at him - he’s _tall, especially compared to her_ \- “Did you want something?” A brief pause, then she smirks and adds: “My Prince?”

She can’t resist touching him as she waits for his answer. There’s no rule against _touching_ him that she’s aware of. She moves close enough that her body brushes against his, and allows her palms to drift up his shoulders and the sides of his neck, before tracing her fingers along the planes of his cheeks. His eyes close as she does so, and she smirks again. He doesn’t hold _all_ the power here, his lofty pronouncements to the contrary. _Gotcha!_

Loki savors this moment. All on her own, without direct instruction she has come to him, caressed him. It’s clear that his pet truly does care in the gentle way her fingers stroke his skin, and he is well-pleased. Perhaps she will not be adverse to some affection on _his_ part either, so he splays his hands across the small of her back, long palms and fingers easily spanning the back half of her torso. Lightly Loki strokes downward, letting his touch glide over a part of her anatomy recently tormented, but he keeps the pressure soft.

“I hope the pain has faded,” he murmurs softly. “You took it very well, especially for a first time. It has been . . . a while and I am not as adept in this dance as I have been.” As he speaks Loki finds his cock thickening again, surging hopefully against the sleek feminine thigh insinuating itself between his.

“It’s....tolerable,” she agrees, leaning into him more, relishing the hot length of him against her. “The, um, _discipline_ , wasn’t quite what I had fantasized about, but I’m not complaining.” She lets her hands fall back to his shoulders, stroking along flexing muscle, then down his arms as far as she can comfortably reach, given his arms are around her. She raises an eyebrow at him. “Shall I tell you what I _had_ thought you might do?” Her thigh rubs against him, just a little.

“You may,” Loki agrees, a little guardedly. He’s comfortable in the water and his pet feels lovely in his arms, but he isn’t sure he wants to hear a critique . . . but how better to learn? How better to _do_ better, he thinks, and draws a deep breath. “Only a fool would turn away from your words, little pet. Proceed.”

She shakes her head at the faint uncertainty in his voice. Insecurity? From _him_? “I don’t mean it as a critique. I didn’t exactly _tell_ you what I wanted, and you’re not a mind-reader.” She furrows her brow. “ _Are_ you?”

He smirks. “Had I the talent, Asgard would have been mine long ago. Alas, no; the reading of thoughts is not among my magic skills.” As he speaks, he keeps stroking, enjoying the soft skin and firm muscle of her ass. 

Good, because the last thing she needs is the God of Mischief in her _head_. “Good. A woman’s got to have some secrets. But there’s a few I’m willing to share with you.” She stretches up on tiptoes, leaning to his ear as much as possible. “Like, for example, I expected the spanking to start a lot more....gradually. And I really hoped you would, well, touch me more. I mean, I was pretty much ‘all hanging out there’, right? You think it was an accident I showed up naked from the waist up?” She presses her chest against him harder by way of illustration.

Talking dirty is NOT one of her strong suits. Why is she doing this, again? “I mean, do you have something against _nipples_?” She’s blushing, hard, but what the heck -- might as well go for broke. She dares to take his arms and place his hands right on her breasts. If that isn’t an obvious cue, she doesn’t know what is!

He caresses them; his hands warm now from the water, thumbs moving lightly over the nipples. “And is that _all_ , my pet?” Loki smiles. “There is always room for improvement, and on a matter this important I can certainly make the effort to find the happy medium for us.” As he speaks he begins to circle his thumbs around her nipples. “I too, have certain hopes as well, certain thoughts and expectations on our interludes, but they can wait . . . .” 

“Of course,” she answers, kissing the side of his neck. “That would be only fair.” She leans back, smiling. “I’ll bet I can guess, though.” Her expression becomes arch as she wraps a hand around his throbbing shaft and strokes it firmly a few times.

His hips hitch against hers, and his breath catches in his throat. Still smiling, she leans into him again and adds: “But we should probably eat something first, shouldn’t we, my Lord?”

As quickly as she can, she releases him and backs away, scrabbling up the stone steps leading out of the pool. She makes a grab for the green robe as she hurries by, giggling as she goes. Probably foolish to tease the Mischief God, but....maybe what he’s got is _catching_.

He laughs too as he follows her up the stairs. Back in the chamber, he allows the ghostly hands to dry him off, as he leers openly at his pet in her damp green robe. It clings fetchingly to all of her curves, so he chooses not to offer _her_ any help with drying.

He doesn’t bother to dress himself either, enjoying her slight discomfort at his nudity as they eat their stew. For what he has planned, they won’t need clothing much longer. The very thought of what he will do stiffens him again, and he smirks as his pet pretends to be fascinated instead by her bowl of stew.

She fidgets nervously as she finishes the last few bites. He’s been done for awhile -- he wolfed the stew down like he hasn’t seen a meal in millennia -- and she’s uncomfortably aware of his gaze, intense, dark, and _dangerous_ on her the whole time. It’s almost like the person (god) she bathed with in the pool was totally different one from the entity sitting across from her now.

As soon as she finishes, Loki rises lazily and crosses to her, plucking the bowl from her hands and pulling her to her feet. 

Wordlessly, he tugs at the bow holding her robe closed, releasing the knot. But he continues, pulling until her robe hangs open, the sash collected in his large hands. 

He flashes a feral grin at her that makes her quiver in all the _right_ places, even as anxiety starts to curl itself around her spine. “Turn around,” he orders, low and smooth.

She’s had enough discipline for one day. Taking a deep breath, she obeys, trying not to jump as he slips the robe from her shoulders, letting it fall and pool around her feet. He releases her hair from the pin next, helping it fall in a soft curtain around her face and neck. It’s hard not to bolt as he gently wraps the wide linen sash of the robe around her eyes. She can’t see, and she’s at the mercy of a God of Chaos; it’s enough to make her knees shake ever so slightly.

He pushes lightly at her shoulder until she steps forward, towards the bed. She can feel his breath on her shoulder; he must be nearly on top of her, closely shadowing her every step, ravenous predator tracking his prey.

Her knees impact the mattress sooner than she expects and she jolts to a stop, her hands scrabbling to keep her from tumbling onto the bed, and Loki chuckles, the sound a little cruel.

“Lay down, my lovely pet,” he says, and again, despite her tension, she obeys. He moves almost soundlessly, her ears straining to track his movements as he circles the bed. Hands grasp her wrists, raising them above her head and hold them down on the pillows....and then her eyes open wide in shock as _another_ pair of hands does the same thing to her ankles, spreading them wide and pinning them in place. 

Then Loki climbs up onto the bed, his body sliding against hers like a caress, but the hands still have a firm grip, and she realizes -- it’s not him holding her down. It’s his ghostly servants. 

She can feel fur under her back and tender ass, and she can’t help wiggling just a bit, enjoying the softness, sandwiched between it and his warmth.

His lips move against her ear. “I have taken to heart what you spoke of to me in the pool,” he says, “and I hope you will grant similar attention when I tell you my expectations as well, at a later time. However, it does seem to me that if you are going to demand certain acts, you will need to _earn_ them.”

Star bites her lip nervously. “And how might I do that while I am bound like this, my Prince?” 

His laugh is soft. “A game, little kitten mine. I will touch your skin with some item or texture, and all you must do is to tell me what it is. Guess correctly, and you will be rewarded with what you crave. Guess incorrectly, and I will have something I crave from _you._ ”

Her throat is suddenly dry, her body trembles. With need or fear, or both, she can no longer tell where one bleeds into the other. 

But she can tell that she doesn’t have a choice. “Yes, Loki,” she says.

A pleased chuckle in her ear, and then he rolls off her and off the bed. Silence falls, during which she can hear nothing but the faint crackle and pop of the fireplace. She tugs at the hands holding her, twisting her head from side to side as she tries to hear him, but there is nothing. 

He makes her _wait_.

When he does touch her, she jerks as if struck by lightning, gasping. She can feel something against her inner left thigh, something very soft. She wiggles as he brushes it against her skin, slowly moving it closer to the heated junction between her legs, and then she realizes it’s the same texture she’s lying on -- fur.

“Fur, my Lord?” she asks hopefully. 

He chuckles. “Very good, clever pet. Hence, your _reward_.” He lets the fur brush over _her_ fur, the sensation soft and tickling, and she moans when his hands move higher, stroking her stomach and then her stiff nipples with it.

Then the feeling vanishes and he’s leaning over her, hard chest pressed down on hers, and his fingers trap her chin as he kisses her urgently. His tongue invades her mouth, taking no prisoners, and she moans again. 

His hand pushes on her chin, forcing her head to tilt back, as he presses soft bites along her throat. She fists her hands, panting, feeling her body temperature rising in response. It only increases as he makes his leisurely way to a nipple, though he doesn’t release his grip on her chin.

He nips hard, and she cries out, but it’s the same tactic as before -- pain and then pleasure as he soothes away the ache with lips and tongue. He suckles hard too, then licks around her nipple, then long tongue strokes glide wetly up and down the rest of her breast, and then he starts all over on the other side. Her hips try to rock, to press into him seeking relief, but he doesn’t stop working her tender flesh until she is sheened in sweat and begging noises spill from her taut throat. “Such delicious _sounds_ you make, little pet,” he croons.

He stops then, removing himself from the bed once more. She tries to catch her breath, to focus on his ‘game’.

When he returns to her, she can feel him leaning over her, but there’s no contact between them. She feels something against her throat, a fluttering -- what _is_ it? Feathers? Leaves? A bird he’s conjured?

“Well, pet?” he asks after she takes too long to answer. His voice is nearby, his face is close to hers, is that a clue? 

“Are you-- tickling me with your hair?” she finally stutters.

He laughs darkly and she knows she’s wrong. “No, but a worthy guess. Those were my eyelashes, dear pet. And now, as you have _lost-_ ”

His hand slips under her head, supporting it, and she feels him shift up onto the bed. Then his length is against her mouth, rigid and throbbing, and she doesn’t need any direction to open her lips and kiss it, stroke her tongue along it. 

He groans, his fingers tightening slightly on her scalp, and she wishes she could see his expression. She can only focus on feeling, taste, scent and sound -- velvet over stone, salty and hot, musk, low growls...he strokes himself along her tongue, and she can feel him _watching_ everything she does to him.

After a short time he stiffens under her teeth, but then he draws himself out of her, fingers stroking down her hair. “One more round, little kitten?”

She licks his salt from her lips and nods. “Yes, my Lord.”

There’s the expected pause and silence, and then he’s back. This time he touches her arm, drawing a smooth, slick material down the sensitive inside, trailing towards her breasts. Soft, cool....but the scent gives it away. “Leather,” she says with certainty.

“You’ve done well,” he compliments her. “I shan’t make you wait any longer-”

She feels him settle between her spread thighs. The ghostly hands shift, sliding up her legs and pressing her knees wider apart, then holding her immobile, and Star tries to stop a groan of anticipation.

She gasps, hips trying to buck when his hot tongue delves deep inside her. It’s impossible to stay still or silent as he teases unmercifully, tracing his tongue along each edge, sweeping around and against her tenderest spot, fingers sinking inside her to discover just which places will win the greatest reaction from her.

He’s too skilled at this, dragging her close to completion almost before she wants him to, but just as her muscles tighten, just as the pleasure starts to dance over the edge into excruciating, he.... _stops_.

She bites her lip. Oh God, he can’t-- Please-- “Loki,” she chokes, “Please, don’t _stop_ -”

He doesn’t answer her, at least not with words. The hands release their grip just long enough for Loki to roll her over and pull her to her hands and knees, then they pin her in place again.

She lets out a loud cry and arches back into him as he pushes himself slowly into her. She can practically feel every vein on his shaft rubbing along her walls at each slow retreat and advance. Every time he fills her, he hits just the right spots inside and out. 

But even he becomes impatient before long, his fingers almost bruising her hips when he finally decides to abandon this sweet torture and _take_ her. He slams into her over and over, so hard she’ll wonder afterwards how her bones are still whole, and she can somehow feel it when he’s about to spill himself, he’s so hard and heated inside her--

Her climax is there, waiting to engulf her-- just another thrust, and now there is his hand, reaching around her hip to press her clit in _just_ the right way--

White light fills her mind, her body convulsing around him, and distantly she can hear his loud cry of satisfaction as he spends himself inside her, their bodies seeming to fuse into one being, shuddering, collapsing, entwining....

\--oo00oo--

 

Later, much later, Loki opens his eyes to find his pet curled to his side, one slender leg wrapped over his in unconscious possession. Moved, he smiles in the dark, feeling quiet pride in her. She is a spirited female, complicated and strong, feminine to the core and worthy of his interest. This night has been sweetly fiery, (and Loki hopes) a lovely beginning to something . . . special.

But now . . . Now it is time to return her to her Midgardian surroundings, back to her world. It sends a pang of loneliness through him, and Loki waits a while, watching her sleep so innocently and deeply before speaking in a low whisper.

“When you awake you shall be returned, with only a few moments of time missing, little kitten. You shall keep your memories of tonight, as shall I.”

She stirs restlessly, a small frown flickering across her face, and Loki blows a soft breath across her cheek. Instantly she settles down as he speaks again. “The next time I shall come to _you_ , and we shall see to it that you are bedecked as a pet _should_ be, hmmm? In the interim, rest, and await me, little hell-cat.”

Loki ever so lightly runs his tongue along her lips, closing his eyes and allowing the slow press of old magic flare around them and encompass Star. She shimmers like her namesake and fades away, leaving behind warmth and perfume lingering on the bed.

Loki breathes in deeply and rises, his expression bleak; there will be no rest or comfort now that she is gone, and he has enemies to deal with.

Still . . . he permits himself a smirk as he picks up the linen belt to the robe. There is the next time to look forward to---


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack!fic; Loki takes his ‘pet’ shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Loki still owns us. Yep.  
> Authors’ Note: As with the first chapter, Starhawk wrote the OC’s POV, and Cincoflex wrote Loki’s.

Banner made by **cincoflex**!

Nearly three weeks go by, and she tries not to chafe about them. Loki had said to expect this, hadn’t he? But it doesn’t make it easier.

_ Better start the pie, _ she reminds herself one Saturday afternoon. Her husband is napping, her child is napping, her Department Meeting and Potluck is next week, and she’s on dessert detail.

She starts mixing the dough for the crust, shaking out her hand as it tries to cramp around the pastry blender -- God, she HATES this part of baking -- when there’s a sudden _change_ in the air. As if it has become charged with electricity. The hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she freezes.

The air folds open like a door, and Loki steps through it, grinning at her. He’s dressed like a businessman; three-piece black suit, a black, green and white scarf....and he’s holding a staff topped with a bright blue gem.

She blushes, remembering the games he promised to play with that gem....on _her_.

Then sanity comes back. “Loki!” she hisses, “My family!” She gestures frantically towards the bedroom area of the condo. He promised to come to her, yes, but she never expected he would show up in the middle of the day in her goddamned living room!!

He glances in direction she indicated, unconcerned. “Be at ease, they will not wake.”

She bites her lip, not sure how she feels about him using magic on her family. “Um, OK.” She stares into her mixing bowl for a second, wondering what to say to him. “I missed you,” she settles on.

“As did I, you,” he answers, coming into the kitchen and raising her chin with his hand. The kiss is hot, deep, and utterly possessive, not that she minds.

“Come with me, now,” he says softly, but there is no mistaking the tone of command.

She wants to, really really wants to, but-- “Loki, I _can’t_. I have things to do-”

His eyes darken angrily, long fingers digging slightly into her skin. “You dare refuse _me_?”

Her eyes flash as her own anger rises to meet his. “Screw _you_. You keep giving me that line about having your own fish to fry, and that I have to  wait until you have a chance to see me....but _I_ don’t get the same consideration?” She bats his hand away, totally irritated with him, and then puts her hands on her hips and _glowers_.

Her tension eases when he laughs, full and deep. “As always, you show your claws, kitten mine. But did you not notice last time, for all the hours we spent entwined, only mere seconds passed here in your mortal world? Believe that we will have plenty of time for what I have planned, and you will also have the leisure to make...” He pauses, looking curiously into the bowl.

“Apple pie, my specialty,” she informs him. She bites her lip, thinking. “OK, fine. I’ll make you a deal. If you get me back here around pretty much _this_ moment in time, and I manage to bake the pie without _any_ other interruptions....you can have the first piece. Do we have a deal?” 

He arches an eyebrow at her, and the look might be called imperious if there wasn’t a dimple deepening in his cheek. “The first piece. I rather _like_ the sound of that,” Loki purrs.  “Yes, I agree to your bargain, little Puss. Now ready yourself; we have finery to acquire.”

“Finery?”

“Indeed. As both my pet and plaything, you need to be showcased; bedecked,” Loki murmurs, plucking the pastry blender from her hand and dropping it into the bowl. “Dressed to be _un_ dressed, and displayed for my personal pleasures. Too many of your finer features are hidden from me even now.”

She glances down at her clothing to hide her discomfort -- a tight black tee-shirt (with Smurfette, and the words ‘Heart-breaker’ written on it) and blue jeans -- she’s never been all that comfortable getting compliments, especially about her appearance. _‘Showcased’? ‘Displayed’? Yeah, right. Next comes an invitation from Victoria’s Secret to model for them. _ “Uhhhh, OK. If you say so,” she says doubtfully. Nervously, she goes to the sink to rinse the flour from her hands. “And here I thought you wanted me for my _mind_ ,” she quips half-heartedly. 

“Your mind has its charms,” Loki replies silkily. “I do not bed fools or the dull-witted. It takes intelligence to put pleasure through its paces. And while your mode of dress might suit for this . . . creation of apple pie, it is too plebian for what I have in mind. Choose something else, or I will dress you myself.”

He looks particularly mischievous; always a dangerous sign.

No way she’s leaving him to decide that, he’ll probably make her walk the sidewalks dressed only in a bra and panties (if _that_ ). “OK, OK, hold your horses.” As quietly as she can, she sneaks into the bedroom and then the walk-in closet. Maybe hubby won’t wake, thanks to Loki’s spell, but she doesn’t want to take any chances. 

What to wear? Her LBD? A sundress? Finally she settles on a pink dress with spaghetti straps and an asymmetrical hemline that ends at her knees in front. It’s got a funky paisley pattern and edging in gold tones; hopefully it’s enough on the border of fancy/ casual for whatever evil plan Loki has. 

Again, she sneaks back out of the bedroom and back to the living room. “Does this meet with your approval, my Lord?” she asks, tipping him a little curtsey.

He circles around her, scrutinizing his pet from the top of her head down to her feet, his gaze drinking her in thoroughly before giving a little purr under his breath and managing a lopsided smirk. “Yes. Yes, that will do for the moment. I hope it’s simple to remove.” 

Before she has time to grasp that, Loki steps behind her, wrapping his arms around her gently, her back against his chest as he holds the staff against her stomach, like a safety bar on a rollercoaster.

“Now, I believe there is an establishment that will well serve my-- _our_ \--purposes,” he murmurs.

They shimmer and blink out, leaving behind the barely-begun pie on the counter.

\--oo00oo--

Très Méchante is an exclusive shop at the far end of the mall. Only a few select customers even know where it is, and those who do tend not to share the information. The wrought-iron doors and tinted glass panels hint at luxuriousness, as do the potted palms on either side.

It’s just a casual stroll away, but Loki makes it clear that those very doors are their intended destination.

“‘Très Méchante’?” she asks. For once, she’s kind of sorry she speaks French. “Um, Loki, what kind of store is _that_?”

Maybe going on a shopping trip with the God of Mischief isn’t such a good idea. Not that he’s going to give her any choice. She tries to slow her walk, slow _them_ down, just a little. Buy some time to figure out what the hell is in store for her. So to speak.

Loki is looking at two young girls walking by; he makes a soft growl and they both burst into nervous giggles, eyes wide and slightly awestruck. He gives them a wink and turns to answer his pet. “Poor things. So inexperienced. As for our destination, well--I do believe the name says it all.”

“It doesn’t say _anything_! ‘Very Mean’...um, OK? That’s really clear, suuuure.” She bites her lip and tries to stop dead on the sidewalk. 

He leans in and whispers. “Very Naughty,” Loki corrects her. “At least, that is _their_ specific meaning. I happen to know that you _like_ to be very naughty.”

She can’t help smirking at that. “Sometimes,” she agrees coyly. “I could say the same of you as well, though. Are we going to be shopping for you too, my Prince?” She looks up at him from under her eyelashes.

He very nearly preens at her words, but catches himself and clears his throat. “Possibly. My interest lies in procuring more of the items similar to the one you wore last time,” Loki murmurs. “You would do such apparel proud.”

A handsome young man walking by gives her a stare, and Loki’s eyes narrow. He begins to raise his arm--

“Whoa, down boy,” She says, grabbing his elbow. “C’mon Loki, you were looking at those girls. Now you’re gonna zap some poor schmoe for doing the same thing to me?” she whispers. “Inconsistent, much?”

“Capricious _god_ here,” he says sounding like Captain Jack Sparrow for a moment, then turns her back towards the distant doors. “The girls merely wondered about me, just as they did about you. _That_ one, though--” Loki bares his teeth for a moment, “certainly had more than curiosity on his mind, and none of it worth noting. I will let him live . . . if I must.”

“Please do,” she says encouragingly, tugging him forward towards the doors. As nervous as she is about going to this place, whatever it is, it has to be better than watching him blast someone to smithereens in the middle of the mall!

They stroll forward, approaching the doors and when they reach them, Loki raises the staff – which has morphed into a less threatening ‘cane’ form - and raps once on the handle. The doors open and an elegant man in a three-piece suit looks out towards them and nods. He’s lean and handsome in an aristocratic way, with a goatee and bald head, green eyes behind half-moon glasses. “Welcome, sir,” he intones. “Do you have an appointment with us?”

“Oh yes,” Loki replies in a silky tone. “That we most definitely _do_.”

An _appointment?_ OK, this is officially the WEIRDEST shop she has ever been to. Now she’s even more nervous. 

The inside of the place looks more like a fancy living room with exquisite velvet furniture and walls of mirrors and ornate wallpaper in grey and silver. There are little alcoves everywhere and the mannequins are wearing lingerie that would make anyone from  Victoria ’s Secret weep with envy. Loki smiles and steers them inside.

“I am Maximilian, your attendant,” the man murmurs. “And is this your . . . consort? May I congratulate you on a beautiful woman, sir?”

She can feel herself turning bright red. This seems to be the day for people to comment on her appearance. “Thanks, you’re no slouch yourself, Max,” she can’t help muttering, though she keeps her eyes on the floor. She’s sure Loki is doing his pleased _smirk_ , and seeing it just now will probably turn her even redder.

“She’s spirited,” Loki announces, “and opinionated.”

“Then you are doubly fortunate, sir.  If you would care to follow me into the viewing room?”

The viewing room is more intimate and cozy, with a chaise lounge and a few classical chairs in dove-grey velvet. There is a dais against one wall, surrounded by full-length mirrors and fresh-cut flowers in crystal vases.

_ Jesus H. Christ, _ she looks around. What the hell _is_ this place? “You have....interesting taste in lingerie stores,” she says in a low voice to Loki.

He moves close and breathes lightly on the side of her throat as he whispers. “Do you like it? It’s not for everyone, but then again, you and I, we’re not like everyone either. It took me a while to find this place, but I think it will have exactly what we’re looking for, my Star.”

She shivers at the coolness of his breath and closes her eyes. _I am so going to regret this, I just know it,_ she thinks. But she only says: “If it meets with your approval, then of course I like it. What do you want me to do?”

Loki slides his hands up the sides of her shoulders, fingers catching in the spaghetti straps. He flicks them off her shoulders, his touch slow. “Undress, of course. How else are you to try on and model for me?”

She presses her hands to the top of the dress. “Uh, fine, but sorry, I don’t undress in front of just anyone.” She indicates Max with a sharp movement of her head. “No offense. Point me to a changing room, garçon.”

Max gives a small bow. “I am not permitted to stay, much to my regret. However, the catalog is here--” He waves at one of the mirrors, which is actually a computer screen showing a vast array of selections on display, “--and should you require any further assistance or advice, you have but to ring. I leave you to your selections and have a lovely afternoon.”

She lets out a relieved sigh after Max leaves. “OK, explain this to me again, because apparently I’m a little _slow_ \-- random guy stares on the street and you’re ready to turn him into cat food, but you have no problem dropping my dress in front of a random dude in a lingerie store. Is this some Asgardian social norm I’m not aware of?”

“Max is  . . . unique,” Loki smirks. “And well-versed in consorts, pets and playthings. There _are_ other people who understand the ways of gods and mortals, masters and servants, the ways of you and I, little Puss. This cannot be news to you.”

Loki drops himself in a lazy slouch in a chair, cane resting against it, and watches her. “Show me how _much_ you have missed me. I want to see.”

Had they still been in his private magical retreat, she would have done just that....maybe even have put on a little ‘show’ for him. But in an unfamiliar, somewhat public setting like this? She raises an eyebrow at him. “Um, _what_? You want me to just strip down right here? I don’t think so. Give me something to change into-” she motions towards the catalog, “-and I’m happy to oblige you. That is, unless....” she smiles lasciviously at Loki and walks over to stand in front of him. “... _I’m_ not the only one naked.” She trails her fingers down his tie, tugging lightly on it, and then starts to pull his scarf from around his neck--

He catches her small wrists and holds them for a second, then brings one up to his lips, tongue flicking along the sensitive pulse point. “Ah, well there are a great many things to wear, and just so we have some privacy--” Loki lets go of her other wrist and snaps his fingers. The door to the viewing room slides shut and the heavy ‘click’ of a lock echoes faintly.

Loki arches an eyebrow at her and gazes meaningfully at the spaghetti straps.

She backs up, eyes narrowed as she reconsiders. He _did_ lock them in. She feels an abrupt need for her own particular brand of mischief.

“Privacy is all I required, my Lord.” She turns her back to him and unzips the pink dress as slowly as she can. Then she turns to face him, sweeping the straps aside and letting the dress slide down, falling around her strappy black sandals. She’s left with only those, a lacy black bra, and matching panties.

Does she dare to take the next step? She’s fantasized about doing so a couple times, but.... she steps out of the dress, walking slowly backwards until she can sit on the chaise lounge. 

She gives Loki her best sultry smile as she toes off her sandals, then she lays down on the chaise, closes her eyes and lets the fingers of one hand trace down her cheek, along her throat and collarbone, down to the neckline of her strapless bra.... 

She licks her lips as she remembers what it had felt like, to be half-naked across his lap as he’d spanked her, to be bound and blindfolded and teased. She cracks one eye open and smiles at Loki. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your clothes off too?” she purrs. “That suit is gorgeous, but your _birthday_ suit puts it to shame.” As she speaks, she lets the fingertips of her hand dip just below the top edge of one cup of her bra.

Loki smiles briefly and leans back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his hands as he watches her over the top of them. He says nothing, but there is a faint ruby glow deep in his eyes. He waits, perfectly still, gaze still on her, lingering as warm as a caress.

It’s his challenge back to her, his way of upping the ante and making it clear if she wants a response then his little pet is going to have to try a _bit_ more. Gods are infuriating that way; it’s what makes them dangerous lovers.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs, smirking over at him. She closes her eyes again and wiggles down a little on the chaise, spreading herself out on the soft velvety surface. Taking a deep breath, she pushes her hand a little further down, brushing her fingertips lightly across her firming nipple. She lets her other hand caress its way down the centre of her bra, her ribs and stomach, then slips it underneath the waistband of her underwear.

Part of her can’t _believe_ she’s actually doing this, but.... what’s the harm?

She lets her first hand curl around her breast, squeezing the nipple gently, and she dares to peek over at Loki again as her other hand makes small circles in the curls between her legs. 

Loki makes a sound, a soft little growl barely audible in the stillness of the room. Clearly his pet is more than ready to call his bluff, and in such a blatant way. It’s difficult not to simply stride over and loom, lean over her petite form and nip her collarbones.

Difficult but not impossible, since what she’s doing is so . . . _so_ . . . fascinating. So decadently intimate. Loki is torn between watching and taking, but he doesn’t want this to end too soon, and his pet does seem to be enjoying herself, even if her teasing is fiercely arousing. He settles for dropping his hands from their steepled position and gripping the chair arms all the better to control himself. 

She allows herself to wink at him, enjoying his obviously white-knuckled discomfort. Who’s got the power _now_?

She squeezes her nipple again, reaching down further under her panties until she can trail her fingers through the slickness there, bringing them back up to circle slowly around her most sensitive spot. She allows a soft gasp to escape her lips, and shifts on the chaise, bucking her hips a little towards her fingers, bending one knee and propping her foot on the chaise to open herself just a little more.

She almost pities Loki. He can’t actually _see_ anything, can he? Well, if he wants the barrier of her clothes out of the way, let _him_ do something about it.

It i _s_ what he asked for; _more_ than what he expected, actually. One of the amusing aspects of his pet is her coyness at times--but at the moment she’s anything BUT. It’s becoming more frustrating by the moment, particularly since she’s enjoying herself and as for himself . . . 

Well he is and isn’t. Watching her is thrilling. Females are so very different when it comes to solitary pleasure. More languid, more willing to draw matters out instead of rushing to fountain, as males do. If only he could _see_ \--

As deliberately as he can, Loki reaches for his walking stick, gripping it for a moment and letting it shift to its familiar, deadly staff form. Carefully he extends it, letting the hook point catch the lace of his pet’s panties. A tug and the fabric rips, exposing one sleek hipbone as the tatters drop against the velvet of the chaise lounge.

_ Much better _ , he decides, and leans forward for a closer look.

She gapes at the change in the cane, then gasps as he wrecks her underwear. “Hey! I liked those.” She frowns darkly at him, though it’s all an act. Mostly. “I hope you plan to replace them, my Prince.”

“Not at the moment,” he replies in a low tone full of lust. “You seem to be enjoying yourself, and your scent is . . . enthralling.”

Carefully Loki shifts from the chair and moves towards her, kneeling beside the chaise and bending to brush his lips ever so lightly against hers. “ _Do_ keep going,” he whispers.

She has to swallow around a sudden lump in her throat. He’s too close, now he _will_ see everything, and that makes her nervous again. He’ll probably destroy the bra too at any moment. 

Look _at him_ , she coaches herself. _He’s loving this. What are you so afraid of?_ She breathes deeply again, slides her hand back between her legs. She can feel the blood and heat rushing to her cheeks and chest, his gaze seeming to burn her flesh as he watches her fingers press into herself, then slip back up and around her nub again. She strokes herself slowly, around and around, fixing her gaze now on the bulge in his dress pants. 

She presses a little harder, relishing the sensation, and squeezes her nipple, closing her eyes and arching herself against her own hands. 

It’s magnificent, and Loki kisses her, tongue sliding along the seam of her lips, begging admission. He can hear her pulse jump, can feel her body torquing with arousal now, so near and so warm. Loki curses himself as one greedy hand slides along his pet’s thigh, caressing it firmly. Gods he wants her to keep going, to _taste_ her as she comes . . .

Eyes still closed, she jumps slightly when he touches her, but she grins and opens her lips under his. _Once again.._.. _gotcha_! she thinks. She lets her tongue slip over and tangle around his, her hand leaving her folds to caress the back of his hand on her thigh. An evil impulse inspires her to wrap her hand around his, trying to guide it between her legs. He never said anything about not _helping_ , did he?

Loki smiles against his pet’s mouth, tasting her laughing moan. He allows her to guide his hand to the slick little garden between her thighs, kissing her more deeply as he does so. It’s fascinating to feel her fingers move his to the exact place she wants to be touched, to allow her to use him for her own gratification. Her cleft is more than slick and hot to the touch, the bud of her pleasure as stiff as her nipples. Loki sucks on her tongue, feeling himself throb hard.

She moans loudly as his teeth scrape lightly against her tongue. She presses his hand harder against her, circling and teasing, then decides she needs to come, _now_. She guides his fingers to her entrance instead, wordlessly urging him to slip two fingers into her, then brings her hand back to her nub, massaging it hard. Her hips rise and fall against his penetrating fingers, she hopes he’ll get the hint. Her other hand tugs the bra cup down at last, freeing her nipple so she can press it to Loki’s chest, rub it against the slightly rough texture of his suit. 

She needs more air, she breaks their kiss so she can let her head fall back against the chaise, closing her eyes again so she can focus on her body and her pleasure.

Loki grinds his teeth and concentrates, thrusting his fingers into her welcoming slickness, stroking to match his pet’s own caresses. Watching her is intoxicating, pinning her on the chaise lounge makes him breathe all the harder. With his free hand he pinches one of her nipples, rolling it firmly between his fingers, tweaking it just as she begins to spasm a few moments later. Loki licks a long wet stripe along her arched throat, letting his teeth graze her damp skin, and feels very much like the raw, wild god he is.

Heat sears through her, burns her away until there’s nothing left, leaving her gasping and limp on the chaise, shuddering with the occasional sweet aftershock. She laughs a little shyly and tugs at Loki’s tie. “Well, that was....a new experience for me. Seems you have that effect on me, Loki. Did you put me under some kind of spell?” 

He braces a hand above her shoulder and lightly nips her nose before speaking. “Rather the _opposite_ , darling minx. That was lovely and painfully arousing. I will want something like that again at some point.”

“‘Painfully arousing’? Poor baby. I can help with that, if you want.” She grins and slides a hand along the straining ridge under his pants, craning her neck up to kiss him again.

He groans, hips rocking forward against her touch, but with a sigh Loki forces himself back and stands, looking slightly grim. “We were _supposed_ to be . . . shopping, as you call it. If I give in to you here and now I suspect we won’t spend _any_ time making selections. I can hold off on my own pleasure for a short while, and I do mean to see you in beautiful things, pet. Particularly with that rosy flush to your skin.”

“As my Lord wishes,” she answers obediently, though she can’t seem to stop a smug little smirk. The panties are a lost cause either way so she strips them off and drops them next to her dress, then peels off the bra to follow. “Is there a place for me to wash up? I don’t want to, um, stain any of your ‘selections’, especially if they don’t fit me and we can’t take them. I’m kind of a non-typical size.”

Loki chuckles and waves a hand towards one corner of the room. Textured crystal walls slide out and curve to form an alcove complete with shower, bidet and toilet. He helps his pet up and kisses her, then turns to the dais to inspect the computer screen there.

“They are _very_ service-oriented here,” he calls over his shoulder. “One of the best on your little planet.”

“Now Loki, size doesn’t matter,” she retorts as she goes to clean up. Once done, she wanders over to look at the catalog too. “Whoa...” she breathes.

Loki shifts his gaze to her nudity and makes a little sound deep in his throat, then touches the screen on a particular item--a merry widow corset in black and silver.

“And here I thought you’d go for things in green, gold and black only,” she muses out loud. “I’ve been told I look good in red, if you’re open to suggestions.”

“Mmmm. Red, yes,” he murmurs, tapping the screen again and from the wall next to the mirrors a panel slides open to reveal the corset and panties on a padded silk hanger. Loki plucks them off and examines them intently for a moment. “To me, pet--let us see you in _this_.”

She goes right up to Loki, making sure to rub up against him. He’s still _very_ aroused. “Hmm, maybe we should also look for a posing pouch for _you_? I’m thinking black leather, with a snake on it.” She winks up at him slyly.

“I doubt you could find one large enough,” he tells her with mock-innocence, and then slides his large hands down her ass, pinching the left cheek, making her gasp and jump. “As you recall I have . . . substantial impact. Does my choice bore you? Are you not interested in seeing yourself in my gifts?”

Loki murmurs this in a tone that pretends to be hurt, but his eyes glitter and against her thigh she feels him--the very insistent part of him--throb. His hair is longer, giving him an elegant fae look in his suit.

“I never said that. I was just trying to encourage you to give _me_ some eye-candy, too.” She shrugs and plucks the items out of his hands, walks over to sit in a nearby chair, and slips the corset on, then the panties. They actually fit pretty well, which is a pleasant surprise. She raises an eyebrow at Loki again. “I suppose you want me to go over there?” She motions towards the dais. “Geez, all it’s missing is a stripper pole,” she mutters to herself.

Loki sits again, leaning back, long, lean legs splayed. He runs his hands down his thighs, the gesture lingering. “If you want something, you must ask for it,” he rumbles. “Nicely.”

From this position the heavy ridge of his shaft straining his trousers is prominent and unmissable, as is the heavy-lidded look he gives her. “Red becomes you, my sweet.”

“Glad you think so, my Prince.” She puts her sandals back on, then deliberately doing her best sashay, she walks over to the dais and steps onto it, looking at herself from all angles. She sticks out her hip a little, then her chest. She turns to study herself from the back, pretending not to notice Loki’s smoldering gaze. The thong underwear frames her...assets fairly nicely, too. Not bad, not bad at all. “And no, the stripper pole thing wasn’t a _request_ \- not unless you think the sight of me clumsily falling on my ass would be hot. If so, then by all means, m’lord.” She meets his eyes and dips him a somewhat sarcastic little curtsey.

“I could show you how,” he chuckles throatily, and strokes his thigh again, hand gliding across the ridge there. “Come here, pretty toy; I want a closer look.”

She raises both eyebrows this time. “You know how to use a stripp- never mind, I don’t think I want to know.” Smirking, she steps down off the dais and approaches him, though she slows noticeably as she nears him. “My, what big eyes you have,” she can’t resist commenting, her nerves tingling a warning. He does remind her of a wolf, tensed and ready to pounce and _devour_.

“All the better,” he replies, showing that he does understand the reference. “And I have danced _many_ a time, little puss, both in this form _and_ my she-form. Closer . . . will I bite? You won’t know unless you take a chance now, will you?” his eyes are half-closed now, and the hand on his thigh flexes a bit.

“‘She-form’? Hm. I probably shouldn’t tell you that I’ve often fantasized about what it might be like to have sex with a woman,” she admits, though she hangs back, circling, keeping a couple paces back from him. “Maybe I don’t intend to come closer. Maybe, if you want me, you’ll have to come _get_ me.” She sidles back another few steps.

Loki arches an eyebrow. “I’ve _brought_ you here, helped to _give_ you an orgasm and now intend on _buying_ you many pretty clothes. Perhaps you might want to consider that part of _my_ pleasure comes from being shown a little _gratitude_ , luscious one. At the moment I want you _on_ your knees, waiting obediently.”

He says it in that soft tone that sounds reasonable, even as Loki purses his mouth, adding, “Turnabout _is_ fair play since the sight of you is driving me mad.”

“Fuck, now we’ve apparently gotten to the part where I get nervous and say or do something to piss you off. And things were going so well up til now,” she mutters. Steeling herself, she walks right up to his chair and kneels down beside it, keeping her eyes on his shoes. She wishes she could reverse time back to a few seconds ago, when he asked her if she wanted to ‘take a chance’. She _should_ have approached him then. Things would have (hopefully) stayed playful, instead of....this. Where her heart starts pounding and her palms start to sweat, and it’s because of anxiety.

Loki chuckles. “I meant on your knees in _front_ of me. Have I frightened you so much that you can’t see my desire for you?” His hand slips down the length of his leg to his knee and he shoots her a sidelong glance. “No sulking; just do it now, please.”

She made a deal with herself over the last couple weeks that she wants to give in, to try to enjoy this, not _fight_ it - not like during the spanking - so as soon as she is between his long legs, she gets up off her knees, sliding up the length of his body until their faces are level. “If you want to bite me, then do it, Loki. I am yours.” She turns her head to the side, offering up her throat and neck, even as she slips a hand along the throbbing curved shape under his pants and pops the button. She holds her breath and tries not to tremble too noticeably. 

He gives a pleasured sigh, and lets his face brush alongside her cheek, tongue leaving a wet trail down the side of her throat, pausing just at the most ticklish, tender point on it. Loki’s words are muffled against her skin even as one hand slides down the front of the corset to skim over one of her nipples. “Surrender, so sweetly _given_ ; what male could resist you, my delicious Star?”

The nip is small and sharp; not enough to break the skin, but Loki feels a little jolt run through her, and he kisses the spot. His pet’s hands are cupping around him, her fingers warm and teasing.

He adores this.

She is trembling, and Loki knows part of it is sheer animal lust, desire banked by her earlier orgasm but not quite satisfied. The other part is her inner conflict, the battle between her own strong will and personality. His pet is no meek little plaything, no vapid fool, and Loki admits to himself that much of her charm lies right there. She is a worthy choice: sensual, forthright, willing to play with him even when she cannot know what will happen next.

She makes him work for what he wants, and _that_ makes the playing worthwhile.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? How much your touch pleases me?” he sighs, hips rocking forward now.

“You flatter me, Lord,” she smiles a little, relieved, stroking his shaft firmly with both hands. She goes back down on her knees, but winces when the left one gives a warning twinge. “Forgive me, my Prince, but I have a history of knee problems--” As quickly as she can, she rises and snags a pillow from one of the chairs, then sinks down onto it in front of him. Better.

Hands cupping him once more, she presses her lips to the pulsing veins on the underside of his length, then traces them languidly with her tongue, stopping to lap at the sensitive spot just beneath the head and looking up at him as she does so.

Loki closes his eyes, savoring the sensations surging through him, feeling the wave of heat flaring in irresistible waves. His pet, _his_ pet tending to him this way. Lovely, talented . . .  He bites his lower lip, teeth bearing down hard as her tongue dances slyly along his aching shaft. “Oh you _are_ a wicked little thing, aren’t you?”

She can’t help a snort of laughter. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, I don’t think you have any idea _how_ wicked, my Lord.” She punctuates that by taking him as deep in her mouth as she can comfortably manage.

Loki grunts, long fingers digging into the arms of the chair in an effort to fight back the fresh wave of lust. The sight of his pet between his thighs is unbearably erotic and he doubts his own ability to hold off the orgasm relentlessly building behind his balls. It’s been too long and every instinct he has is urging him to come, but this _exquisite_ moment of her power over his pleasure is thrilling.

“Careful,” he gasps, dropping his head back to expose his throat over the knot of his tie. “I’m very close---”

She lets him slip out of her mouth. “Good,” she says with a laugh. And then she swallows him whole again, letting her teeth scrape against him, her tongue caress him, fingernails tracing lightly over his balls—

The shudders grow, and Loki rocks his hips, the thrusts rolling up as he slides his fingers through Star’s hair, gripping gently, letting the inevitable wave of raw pleasure surge through him. Thickly, he comes, groaning, his breath uneven as he does so. The sweet, sweet intensity leaves him slumped, his grip on his pet’s tresses turning to a limp caress through the curls.

He opens his eyes and looks at her. “Come here,” Loki rasps, reaching to cup her chin and kiss her, his tongue sweeping through her mouth to taste himself there.

It’s a familiar taste, although Loki would never admit that, and against his pet’s mouth it is exotic and naughty and perfect. He nips at her lip, licks the corners and laughs in sheer pleasure.

She matches him kiss for kiss, savoring the salted aftertaste of him, and curls her fingers in his dark mane. These small moments of affection from him still catch her off-guard, but that doesn’t make them unwanted. 

In fact, she decides to take full advantage-- she curls her arms around him and nuzzles into his neck, breathes him in. She doesn’t think he’s wearing cologne, but his scent is still...interesting. Human and yet not, if she had to describe it; musk and spice, and something else she can’t name. She sighs and tucks her head under his chin, relaxing against him. 

Their time together here feels far from over, and that’s fine with her. She’s sated and yet still _hungry_ for more from him, and she waits patiently to see where he will lead her next.

Loki zips himself up and holds her in his lap, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the warmth of his pet in his arms. She’s a perfect fit, and cuddling her feels wonderful, particularly in this moment. Lightly Loki nuzzles her hair, whispering, “You please me, little one. For that you must have a gift. A special gift.”

She makes a sound--something between a snort and a sigh--but he shifts her so they are both looking at the screen in the mirror. The catalog flicks by a few pages and Loki stops at one outfit, considering it for a moment. It’s lacy and body-hugging, but he isn’t sure he wants that much of his lovely pet covered . . .from chest to toes? Hmmm.

“Oooh, that one’s pretty,” she comments. “Although,” she adds dryly, “something tells me it won’t last long in our....collection.” Given what he did to her panties earlier, it’s easy to imagine him tying her down (for _safety_ , of course) and oh so slowly and carefully slicing this outfit at strategic points with his staff to get access to her flesh, though the idea is not unappealing. In fact, the imagery makes her shiver delightedly.

“I am not _always_ destructive,” Loki chides. “Sometimes will I prefer slowly disrobing you with suitable distractions between layers. Nevertheless, we shall add it to our choices. I wonder if any have cuffs? Pets do need to be leashed, and . . . restrained.”

Absently he runs a hand along the inside of her thigh, fingers lightly drumming there.

“Mmmm, talk dirty to me, my Lord,” she purrs. She makes sure to wriggle her hips against him, as ‘encouragement’. Then, on second thought-- “On the restraints, that is. Being _leashed_? I’m not sure about that one.” But then she reminds herself that she had planned to at least _try_ the things that make her uneasy. So she adds: “If you insist on a leash, I promise to try it at least once, but....I don’t make any guarantees that I’ll come to _love_ it.” Collaring, on the other hand...

“ _I_ have been cuffed and muzzled before,” Loki offers absently. “More times than many, and it does intensify the emotions, particularly when combined with a touch of fear. I have even been . . .” he pauses and looks down, “a plaything myself.”

She blinks in surprise. “You, a switch? Huh. Well, I’ve been known to domme the occasional partner, so....” She trails light fingernails down the side of his neck. “If you please me, and if you _ask nicely_ ,” she says, deliberately echoing his earlier statement, “I’m sure I could be convinced to cuff and muzzle you, if that’s something you would enjoy. Perhaps we should get a collar for you for that purpose, while we’re here?” She grins impishly at him.

Loki’s gaze is guarded, but his dimples deepen as he gives a small smirk. “You first,” he counters. “I have unfinished business with you before I give _myself_ over to your dainty paws, kitten mine. Something in emeralds for you, and a little silver bell, perhaps.” He’s teasing now, wondering if she will give that adorable indignant look that makes him want to pounce.

_ If she is the kitten, then I am the panther _ , Loki thinks, and motions to scroll through the screen once more, making three other selections before the images change to . . . toys and devices.

“A _bell_? Yeah right, like I could ever sneak up on yo-” Words fail her as the screen changes to various toys. “Uh-oh, I think I’m beginning to suspect what you mean by ‘unfinished business’.” She swallows audibly. 

Loki takes one of her unresisting hands and licks her palm, letting his tongue run to her wrist. “Sensitivity is the mother of pleasure. I can tell a few of those excite you, but I want you to tell me _which_ ones, and _how_ you want me to use them on you.” It’s a good request, he feels. She’s exposing herself to him even now, in delicious ways.

She can feel her skin heating in a blush already. “I’ll tell you, my Lord.....if you tell me first _who_ made a ‘plaything’ out of you. Call it sizing up my competition.”

Loki is surprised, but gives a shrug. “Angrboða, or She Who Brings Grief, as she is sometimes known. I contested her for a gem and she ensorcelled me for a time, making me her captive and training me for her pleasure. Every night for a year I was hers to command, and learned _much_ about my own needs and desires. When the calendar came around again to the day of our first challenge she named her price for my freedom.”

“Which was?” She continues gently stroking his neck and throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as her fingers brush across it.

“My seed,” he murmurs. “Which she kept and used to bear my children. Lust, anger, and pride, personified I am told. Told, because I have not been permitted to know them. Now I do not permit my seed to take root, and keep the life force from it for safety’s sake. The pleasure of mating is still there, as is the drive of orgasm, but what is spent is but honey.”

_ Clearly I need to brush up on my Norse Mythology. Marvel canon is not cutting it,  _ she thinks. She puts her arms around him again. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how painful it must be, to not know your kids,” she whispers low against his chest. “If I wasn’t allowed to see or get to know my daughter....” she hugs him tighter. 

He hugs her back for a moment, and smiles crookedly. “You are fortunate, since she was conceived in love and not by trickery. I do not begrudge the bargain I made; in the end _I_ was the wiser and my children have their own destinies to follow. And those many nights have given me a chance to understand what it is to yearn for . . . danger. To enjoy an edge on desire. To exult in a little ruthlessness.”

Loki slides a hand along the back of her skull and grips her hair, tugging it lightly, forcing her head back and up, looking into her face. “Not enough to hurt, but enough to _hold_ you. It thrills you, pet of mine, to know I _will_ do this.” He kisses her, tongue snaking between her parted lips in a quick swipe before he pulls back and smiles. “As I said, you first. A circle of stones for that pretty throat of yours? A heavy reminder that you are mine?”

“I am yours,” she repeats, half-smiling. “And you already know how much I want to wear your collar. But first, I _did_ make a deal with you, didn’t I? I was to tell you which toys I wanted you to use on me, and how....”. She waits for him to release her hair so she can take a closer look at what is available to them.

Loki smiles, fingers loosening to a caress, and cocks his head. “So brave. Very well, tell me _all_ ,” he murmurs, and raises an eyebrow in invitation, his smile slightly knowing.

She snorts and slips off his lap. “Something tells me breaking my deal with you would be the _real_ test of my bravery.” She walks over to the catalog, trying not to blush though it’s a lost cause. She scrolls through a few pages, trying not to squeeze her thighs together as she imagines him using certain things on her.

She finally settles on a vibrator and a set of vaginal beads. She’s never used beads before, and she’s curious, and the vibrator has a small ridge swirling the length of the toy, and she imagines that it will feel.... _interesting_ once it’s inside her. 

She turns to Loki. “Those two, my Lord,” she points, sighing inwardly; her face feels like it’s crimson by now. 

But she’s not done - there’s still the _how_ , isn’t there? _Crap._ She struggles to find the words. “The vibrator - well, I would love for you to tie me down and then tease me with it, all over my body, but especially all my....tender regions, shall we say. And then put it inside me.” Christ, she’s so turned on and yet embarrassed at the same time! “The vaginal beads....well, those are pretty self-explanatory, aren’t they? I can’t imagine that _you_ need _me_ to tell you how they are used.” She waits to see if he’ll be satisfied with that.

“Mmmmm,” he considers her words, amused and aroused at the same time. Yes, many images come to mind, most of them juicy with potential. He rises from the chair and gives a slow nod. “Yes, I think those are . . . necessary.” He taps the order in, and flicks another page of the catalog. “And while we are waiting for those, I believe I will add _these_ and . . . _that_.”

He watches her eyes widen, the pupils full and dark.  “Objections?”

She swallows hard. “N-no, my Prince.” _Christ, gonna regret this...._

Carefully he cups her chin, bending to bring his face close to hers, his breath against her cheeks. “Oh good. We are going to have a memorable time, kitten mine, and when we are done you will have _earned_ my collar, won’t you?” 

He motions to her to slip her dress on over the red lingerie, which she does with only a second or two of hesitation. She scoops up her old underwear and balls it up in her hand for now.

After that it’s only a matter of moments until the elegant bags arrive after a discreet knock on the door. Maximilian hands them to Loki, who produces a little velvet bag that clinks with the sound of heavy coins. He looks to his pet and nods, and then strolls through the lobby of Très Méchante, grinning. Within thirty steps they are back in the mall, in the hustle and flow of regular humanity.

“Are you hungry?” he asks her, glancing towards an ice cream shop. 

She shoves her handful of underwear into one of the shopping bags as she gives a short laugh. “Look at me -- I’m _always_ hungry. The cost of a high metabolism. _I’m_ buying, though.” She reaches automatically for her purse....before remembering she doesn’t have it on her. Ooops. 

Loki snickers, and strides over to the counter. The girl there looks up at him and blinks, clearly a little overwhelmed by the suit.

“You will give my consort your best confection,” Loki orders silkily. “Now, and gratis.”

Star rolls her eyes at his imperious tone. Sure, he’s a prince and used to being waited on, but....

“Uh, what does she want?” the girl mumbles, looking from Loki to Star in confusion. “I don’t think we put any gratis on stuff here.”

Loki sighs and looks to his pet for help. _Midgardians_ , he thinks.

“Loki, behave yourself,” she chides him under her breath. “Nothing is free here....except _me_. Give the poor kid a break -- anything you get us free technically comes out of _her_ salary.”

“Very well,” he grumbles, and fishes out something small from inside his coat. The little stone carving is only an inch high, and utterly charming. The counter girl smiles and scoops it up.

“That’s an Elskine figurine! My granny has those and they’re worth a shitload! Okay, anything you want guys, on the house!”

Star looks suspiciously at Loki. “That had better not be a pebble disguised by one of your illusions,” she mutters. “Just because you HAVE a dick, doesn’t mean you have to BE a dick.”

Loki purses his mouth for a moment, but it’s to stop himself from grinning. “I carved that myself, I’ll have you know. Not an illusion, although not one of my better works.”

She rolls her eyes again. The sooner she gets this over with, the better. “Just give me a scoop of salted caramel ice cream. In a sugar cone, please.” As the girl turns away, she pokes Loki with her elbow. “ _Behave_ , you. I mean it. There’s no bigger turnoff for me than you getting all high and mighty with the hired help. I used to work in retail.”

Loki pauses, and then looks to the counter girl. “How much would you say that Elskine is worth, pretty maid?”

The girl gave a pleased snort. “About sixty bucks, but you can’t have it back, Mister--a deal’s a deal, and my granny is gonna be _thrilled_ to get a Loki!”

Star is startled into laughing out loud. “You made a figurine....of _yourself_!?” 

“I wanted a worthy subject,” Loki replies, and accepts the cone. He hands it to Star and adds, “Carving is an old and worthy skill, pet. Ice Giants come by it naturally, and many hold great skill. Who do you think did the runes? Certainly not your Midgardian ancestors.” 

Star glances worriedly at the counter girl, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed the odd content of their conversation. “Fair enough. I love doing things with my hands. Or rather, I used to -- motherhood is keeping me too busy.” She sighs and takes a taste of the ice cream. Yum. “Are you having any?” she asks him.

Loki watches her in fascination, caught up in the swirl of her tongue on the cone. He blinks a little. “What?” he asks, aware that she’s asked him something, but not sure what the question was.

“Ice. Cream. Are you having any, or are you just going to watch me eat?” She can’t decide if his interest in her licking the dessert is creepy or funny. Both, probably. Deliberately, she licks it again. _Slowly._ “Mmm.” She winks up at him. “Thanks, by the way. This is the last time I go teleporting without my purse, I promise.”

“Yes,” he murmurs, still caught up in her sensual strokes along the cone. “You are . . . enjoying that. A lot.”

She shakes her head, equal parts amused and exasperated. “Men are all the same. _Everywhere_ ,” she informs the counter girl, who nods but looks confused. Star gazes critically at Loki. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re the chocolate type. Give my tall arrogant friend here the same, but make it a scoop of the ‘72% Chocolate’.” She thinks for a moment, then adds: “On second thought, make that _two_ scoops.” Got to account for Aesir appetite and all.

Loki’s question of ‘What is chocolate?’ is answered a few moments later when he tastes the divine darkness for the first time. The pleasurable shock jolts through him and he openly gasps after the first swallow.

“Nice, eh?” Star agrees. “Normally I go for that, but I’m on a caramel kick lately.” She shrugs and licks her own cone.

Loki shudders, then bends low to Star, holding her gaze with his as he hoarsely whispers, “I want to lick this flavor off of every inch of you. This. Must. Happen.”

“Holy _fuck_ ,” she blurts out. “Y-yeah, OK,” she stutters, grabbing his arm and trying to get him to follow her. “Thanks hon!” she calls back over her shoulder to the girl. “Just not _here_ , OK?” she insists to Loki in a stage whisper.

“Agreed,” he nods, and slips an arm around her, carefully cradling his precious, precious chocolate cone in the other hand. They blink out in a flash of green and white.  
 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack!fic; Loki and Star have fun with chocolate and test-drive some of their purchases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: *checks* Yes, still owned by Loki. I think that’s a permanent affliction.  
> Authors’ Note: Starhawk wrote the OFC’s POV, and Cincoflex wrote Loki’s.

Banner made by **cincoflex**!

“Chocolate,” Loki purrs, eyes bright. “At last, something from Midgard _worthy_ of a god besides you, pet.”

She laughs and licks at her own ice cream. “Remember that the next time you start putting us humans down. Asgardians may be superior to humans in many ways but....WE are the ones who invented chocolate!” She gives him a wink.

“Chocolate,” Loki murmurs. “Had there been this in the Allfather’s hall I would have succeeded in my bid to be king. A warrior fueled by such divine sustenance cannot be defeated.” He works on his cone for a moment, an expression of almost boy-like delight on his face.

She grins at his expression; it’s too cute to resist. Then Star starts working seriously on her own cone.

By the time he’s down to one scoop of ice cream remaining, that’s when it occurs to her that if she lets him finish it-- “Slow down there, big boy. Wasn’t there something you planned to do with that? I seem to recall it was some kind of recipe - chocolate plus me?” She gives him another saucy wink, and adds: “Though I would be grateful if you let me finish my cone first. Given you’re an Ice Giant, I don’t imagine keeping your ice cream from melting will be that much of a problem. If it pleases you, of course, my Prince.”

Loki stares at his cone for a moment, then blows a soft breath on it, chilling it instantly. He holds it out and a ghostly hand takes the cone. When he turns to face his pet, she is close to laughing, and he realizes he must have smudges on the corners of his mouth. Carefully he wipes a thumb around the corners of his mouth and licks the traces away.

His little home in the pocket universe is cozy and warm; outside the tall windows snow is falling and making the flames in the fireplace hiss.

Loki looks towards the bed and then arches an eyebrow at his pet, caught between impatience and the after-bliss of the chocolate.

Not missing his mood, she finishes the cone in two bites, thinking fast the whole time. She brushes a few crumbs off her hands and then, smiling a little shyly at him, she unzips her pink dress and lets it slide to the floor for the second time that day, leaving her in the new red corset, panties, and her sandals. 

Star lowers her eyes and walks slowly past Loki to the foot of the bed, then takes a deep breath and kneels down on the carpet there, next to the chair he spanked her in last time. She keeps her eyes on the weaving shapes of the dragons and snakes that adorn the rug underneath her. “My Lord,” she says, and waits.

He gives a delighted laugh and moves towards her, circling around and gazing down at her demure pose. “Now this is more like what I prefer . . . a pet eager to play. We have toys _and_ time to enjoy ourselves. Rise up, little one and let us begin.”

Loki enjoys her slightly apprehensive look, and motions to the chair. From his pet’s confused expression she was expecting the bed, but part of the fun is to catch her off-guard. He gestures for her to sit, and she does, looking cutely suspicious. 

And beautiful. With care Loki kneels in front of her, resting his hands on her thighs, holding her gaze for a moment. “I want more chocolate,” he tells her, and adds, “arms up, pretty toy.”

Hesitating, she complies, her expression making it clear that she’s not sure she trusts him.

Loki concentrates, and suddenly his double is standing behind her, hands gripping her wrists, holding them up and out.

She starts. “What the f-” She looks back over her shoulder and sees another Loki. _Oh crap._ Like it’s not difficult enough submitting to one Loki. 

Her whole body is trembling, but she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, struggling to steady herself. It’s another him, but it _is_ him. She opens her eyes and meets the original Loki’s gaze and holds it, challenging as that is. 

“Why leave you in my ghost hands when you can have _all_ of me holding you?” Loki murmurs. “Restraints of a more loving sort, yes?”

He concentrates and the hands holding Star’s wrists stroke their thumbs over her pulse points. She shudders a little, which does lovely things for her chest in the corset. Loki-behind-her gives a little purr as well.

Beckoning the ghostly hand holding the cone, Loki pulls the scoop of ice cream off of the cone, holding it in his fingers and looking over the top of it at her. “Now . . . where to begin?” he asks in a chatty tone.

She can’t help a giggle despite the remnants of her anxiety. “May I suggest you let me remove my clothes? Unless there’s a laundromat service somewhere in this Club Med Arctic of yours.” The Loki behind her is standing _very_ close, and she can’t resist pressing herself back, rubbing herself against him. Call it a private experiment -- does his clone react the same way to stimulation as the original? And taking just a _little_ control, however small, does help settle her nerves ever so slightly.

“Ah-ah,” Loki shakes his head. “Part of the fun is the mess, and yes, as a matter of fact magic _will_ take care of the aftermath.”

Loki-behind-her gives a sigh. “I _felt_ that, minx. Perhaps I had better tighten my grip.” He doesn’t though, and instead moves to nibble on her fingers.

Loki brings the ball of chocolate ice cream forward and touches it just under her jaw line where the chill of it makes her flinch ever so slightly. He strokes it very lightly, barely skimming her flesh, and then moves to lick.

_ Jesus Christ _ . The cold feels good, but Loki’s hot tongue on her is even better...and then there’s the sensuality of the _other_ Loki’s teeth on her skin, too. She squeezes her thighs together and squirms in the chair, moaning, pressing her neck harder against Loki’s mouth. She’s already right on the edge of overwhelmed, and they’ve barely started with her. How will she keep her sanity? 

Loki savors the mingled flavors of chocolate and sweet skin, the blend of tastes. He quickly strokes the ice cream along his pet’s neck, and reaches the melting ball up to dab it along one of her arms, stroking it down to the sensitive crook of her elbow.

Loki-behind-her bends and begins to lick her arm, and Loki turns his attention back to Star’s neck, feeling her shiver and squirm. So delicious, so beautifully playful . . . 

She whimpers and lets her head loll back against the clone behind her, her hands clenching into fists as she struggles to deal with everything she’s feeling. Her thighs squeeze together again as heat coils inside her belly. “Oh gods,” she groans.

At that, both Lokis laugh, a delighted and very masculine sound. Loki holds the dripping ice cream over the top halves of her breasts and lets drops fall there, bending to flick them up again with his tongue, letting his lips kiss her as well. Loki-behind-her leans over her shoulder to snatch a bite from the ice cream.

Loki presses his face deeper into the cleavage created by the corset, determined to recover every bit of ice cream but the scent of his pet’s skin arouses him further and he is tempted to nip. 

The noises she’s making would embarrass her if she was bothering to pay attention to anything other than what the Lokis are doing to her. She thinks she might melt faster than the ice cream if they don’t take her clothing off soon, but she keeps that barely-coherent thought to herself -- Loki’s the one in control here. She has to hold on by her fingernails to keep from drowning. 

Her eyes focus in time to notice the clone eating some ice cream....Oh no, what _now_? Can she take any more of this??

Loki lifts his head and gives a nod to his counterpart; with a gentle tug, Loki-behind-her pulls her to her feet, his greater height making him a perfect vertical restraint.  Loki makes no move to rise himself; instead, he hooks the fingers of his free hand into the tiny waistband of the panties in front of his face and gives his most innocent smile.

“There is only a little chocolate left,” he sighs. “And it is melting very fast now. I shall have to work quickly to enjoy it and YOU.”

Loki-behind-her uses one foot to nudge hers apart.

Oh, so that’s his game. “If it pleases you, my Dark Lord. _Lords,_ ” she manages in a throaty purr of her own. She tilts her hips forward by way of invitation and bites her lip, inwardly bracing herself. 

It’s as pretty an invitation as he’s ever gotten from her, and Loki breaks into a laugh. Loki-behind-her slides his hands from her wrists down her arms to the corset, working the hooks in the back and letting it fall away. Once her torso is bared he cups her breasts.

Loki meanwhile, has undone the string ties at each hip, and his pet’s panties drift down as well. He works one shoulder between her thighs and brushes his face against the warm, sweet fluff between her hips. Cold fingers wet with the confection brush through her fur, followed by his tongue.

“ _God_ ,” she gasps again as the cold fingers slip across her sensitive nub, followed by the heat of his mouth, and the other Loki turns the temperature up even more by squeezing both her nipples hard. But her hands are free now, and she wants to _touch_.

One of her hands works its way behind and between her and the clone. She can feel his arousal against her and she presses her palm around it as best she can, given the relative difference in their heights. The fingers of her other hand tangle in Loki’s hair and _tug_. 

Does Loki feel what’s happening to his clone as if it’s happening to his own body? But she doesn’t have the wherewithal to follow through on that thought, as Loki suckles on her, the vibrations of his humming purr sending shocks all over her body, and wrenching a sharp cry from her lips. She can feel sweat beading up on her face, running down her sides, and her hips buck helplessly. 

So much sensory overload, and Loki dimly realizes he cannot keep up his illusion, not when his entire concentration is focused on the waves of pleasure rolling through his pet’s body, making her squeak and groan, her hands clinging to his hair. It would be cruel to push her to the point of pain, so he softens his mouth and lets it rest against her stiff flesh, feeling the thrum of her frantic pulse here in the tenderest of places. And there is still chocolate to be enjoyed in soft little wet kisses as she drifts back from her climax.

But she is close to toppling, so he presses a last, loving kiss to the slick cleft between her thighs and stands himself, aware of his own aching arousal even as he slides an arm around her waist and pulls Star to him. “Such a _good_ plaything,” he murmurs thickly, steering her towards the bed.

She slumps against the mattress and Loki presses behind her, fresh lust spiking at the sight of her bent over and submissive. To take her this way . . .  oh he wants it, wants it _very_ much, but only if his pet agrees--

“Please,” he growls through gritted teeth, rocking his hips against her ass, slowly losing control at the gorgeous image she makes, stretched over, face rosy from her orgasm, eyes bright. “Tell me I may have you _this_ way, right now.”

_ He’s asking _ _me_? She can’t help a gasping laugh. “So polite all of sudden, my Lord? The answer is YES. It’s my favourite position so....go to town.” She pushes back against him just to make things as clear as possible. She would help him with his fly, but she’s not sure she can get her fingers to work just now. 

He stops listening after ‘yes’ and manages to free himself from the damnable confines of his clothing, pausing only to stroke his fingers along the glistening seam of her sex, parting the pink petals of it before bringing his shaft up and plunging deeply within his pet. The stroke forces a growl from him, and the wet squeeze of her body sears away all civilized thought. _TAKE_ , is all he can think, and Loki thrusts, finding a hard rhythm, his hands sliding over the sweet mounds of his pet’s ass to her hips, pushing her roughly against the bed, grinding her there. 

Some tiny part of him remembers to slide a hand underneath, and cup that lovely palm-full of fur. He feels the little bud of joy rub against his hand and when Star gives a sweet little cry he drives himself harder into her, savoring the wet sounds their bodies make when he mounts her. It is rougher than he’s been before, but the heat of his blood singing through the ice of his prick is not to be denied.

The rippling squeezes of his pet’s climax against his sullen cock bring matters to crisis, and Loki arches, feeling the thick gushes splatter deep within his beautiful pet, the pleasure making him grunt hard. Perfection lies in this primitive bridge of their bodies--male to female, older than the stars.

She gasps, still shaking as he slips free of her. _Holy crap, that was..._.her brain fails to find the proper words. Loki collapses forward next to her on the bed, and after fumbling off her sandals, she climbs up and snuggles up against him. His eyes are glazed when she looks up at his face, and she doesn’t bother to suppress her grin. So even _gods_ get a little hazy after sex.

When he finally seems to have his full faculties back, she says: “Well, that’s the best experience I’ve _ever_ had with chocolate...especially considering I didn’t get to TASTE any of it!” She pauses, then realizes-- “Oh wait, I can fix that.” She kisses him deeply, sliding her tongue between his parting lips. He tastes both of chocolate, and of _her_. 

“And just for the record,” she adds after their kiss ends, being sure to meet his hazy eyes, “You don’t need to ask for permission. Whenever you feel the urge, feel free to take me from behind. HARD. Actually, I’d _prefer_ it if you would.” She smirks.

“My preference as well,” he rumbles, his voice deep in his chest as he sighs. “Chocolate. But first, we rest.” He pulls her down and across him, letting his clothes shift away until he’s in bare skin, and tucks his pet close as he yawns.

\--oo00oo--

Star sighs, deeply satisfied, and allows herself to sink a little deeper into the hot water of the bathing pool. Her hips, belly, breasts and cheek rub against Loki as she does so, since he’s holding her within the circle of his arms.

“You know,” she comments after long moments of comfortable silence, her eyes closed, “You promised to lick chocolate off of ‘every inch’ of me...but even though you fell far short of that goal, you pleased me so well with the areas you did ‘flavour’, that I’m going to forgive you. _This_ time,” she teases.

“I do not recall it as a promise,” Loki counters. “More of an ambition, but with only two--what did you call them? scoops--it was not possible to devour my share _and_ cover you. Besides, you Midgardians are frail and susceptible to cold. Had I actually covered you with this confection you would probably die. Chocolate is dangerous.”

“Not a promise? Yeah, you’re right -- it was more of a _proclamation_.” Smiling, she gently pokes him in the ribs. “And the only thing chocolate is ‘dangerous’ to is my waistline. Maybe yours too, if you don’t exercise a little....restraint.”

“I am Loki; I do what I want,” he reminds her firmly. “Although at the moment I have had my fill of confection and would prefer plainer fare.”

He scoops green lotion from a carved bowl and scrubs her hair, the suds thick and scented of mint as his long fingers work the lather thoroughly. “This grows in the shade in Asgard, and it is said it brings great fortune to those who use it.”

His fingers on her scalp make her purr in contentment, and she presses herself more firmly against him. “I can always use a little extra fortune,” she answers. There was something she wanted to ask him, wasn’t there? She furrows her brow, trying to remember, though the massaging action of his fingers as they drift down and rub soap into the back of her neck makes it a challenge. Wait, yes-- “How does that whole ‘double’ thing of yours work, anyway? If I touch your clone, do _you_ feel the sensation on your body, too?”

“Yes,” Loki murmurs. “The illusions I make are capable of feeling sensation as well, although they are not as solid as flesh. They are more like bright shadows I move by my will. The more I make, the lesser each is, so when I create only one, as I did today, it is capable of feeling what I feel to an almost equal degree.”

It’s a rare skill, Loki knows, and one that Thor is unable to cope with. Useful in trickery, and full of potential now that Loki has a pet to play with.

“Oh good, I’d hate to think my _groping_ went to waste.” She grins. “Speaking of which, you’ve been quite the dirty boy, haven’t you?” Winking, she scoops up a handful of green lotion and stretches up as high as she can to work it into his hair. “I’m sure the God of Mischief could use a little good fortune of his own.”

He submits like the elegant tomcat he is, allowing her to groom him and lounging in the process, his manner lordly.  “Mayhap I should mirror _you,_ ” he teases. “Then I would have a harem to pleasure me.”

She gives a snort of derision. “Dude, you can barely handle ONE of me.” Deliberately, she runs her hands down his chest and belly and then gives his balls a gentle squeeze. Truly overtaken by a mischievous impulse, she lets a fingertip brush across the sensitive area just _behind_ his sac. What kind of reaction will _that_ get?

Loki shivers and gives her small smile even as he reaches for her hand, capturing it in his larger one. “Lightly, pet,” he warns, and pulls her hand up out of the water. “Once I wore an iron link there, and not always pleasurably.”

She winces. “Um, OK. That was _not_ the reaction I was going for, sorry.” She scoops up a little more soap and starts massaging it into his shoulders and arms instead. That seems safer. _An iron link? I don’t think I want to know...again, better brush up on my Norse Mythology. Clearly._

“In my year of servitude, I wore iron,” Loki tells her, closing his eyes. “Iron is the one metal that defeats magic; legends even on Midgard tell of that. My mistress had me cuffed and pierced, and often forced to wear the cage of the stallion when I grew rebellious. And while a banded cock can be pleasurable, overuse can make a male . . . sensitive.”

She winces again. “Yikes. Way to kill the mood, me,” she chides herself out loud. 

“I think not,” Loki assures her, bringing a hand to lift her chin. “I simply did not want you assuming that I disliked your touch. You are a good and gentle kitten, and with you I feel . . . protective.”

“Sometimes I can be gentle,” she agrees with a sly smile. A god feels protective of her? That’s a new experience. “Well, I can assure you that if you ever decide you want to bottom to me, I’m not really into that kind of thing - this whole ‘erotic discomfort’ thing, I mean.”

Loki gives her a look, one corner of his mouth going up in a slightly crooked grin. “Oh? You, the pet who tells me what to do and when? I think that if I set you on a throne and offered to lick your feet you would not object _too_ much.”

“If you offered, I’d say yes, sure. But put some kind of spiked leash on you and _drag_ you into doing it -- leaving aside the fact you’re too damned strong for me to even attempt that, of course - nope. What I meant was, wrapping genitalia in cages and piercing body parts isn’t my thing. Minor erotic discomforts that don’t involve body mods -- is that specific enough for you, Mr. Mischief? Or are you just messing with me?” She backs off from him and crosses her arms above the watterline, putting on her best affronted expression.

He laughs. “You _want_ to be constrained, Pet. You want me to tie you up and tie you down more than anything else, so that you do not have to worry about pleasing me. I understand this, and I enjoy it very much. It is a sweet, sweet game I am willing to play with you.”

“Of course that is my preference, I won’t lie,” she admits, relaxing. “But why should I get all the fun? You should get to relax and enjoy sometimes, too. Wouldn’t you like that?” She smiles and approaches him again, this time wrapping her fingers gently around his length. “You can’t lie to me,” she says in a low voice. “Here you are, playing the Dom, but now we’re talking about ME being in charge, and you’re already hard. Your mouth may be full of lies, but your cock is telling me all the truth I need to hear.” She gives a soft squeeze to emphasize her point.

“My cock would stand even if my own ghostly hands caressed it,” Loki points out lightly, “and you are in charge whether you admit it or not. All men can be led by the prick--some constantly, like my brother and his warriors. The difference is that I have chosen you, and you have agreed. We are creatures who appreciate our appetites, yes?”

“What, you think you aren’t worthy to be chosen by _me_?” She shakes her head. “We’ll see about that.” She shrugs and backs away from him again. “I don’t see any need to continue that line of discussion. If you’ll excuse me for a moment, my Prince, I never quite developed the skill for soaping myself up while immersed in water.” She hoists herself up onto the edge of the pool, reaches for more of the green lotion, and starts to work it into the rest of herself, smiling inwardly as she pretends to ignore Loki’s amused grin.

“As you wish,” he tells her. “Although if you want me to watch, I am more than willing to do so. You are very easy to watch.”

He catches one foot under the water and strokes a thumb along her instep, his expression innocent.

She gasps. “You can watch, as long as you stop _tickling_ ,” she retorts, wriggling her foot away from his grasp. 

“Ah but where would be the fun in _that_?”

She rolls her eyes. “If you’re really nice, when I’m done soaping and rinsing off, I’ll finish washing the rest of you.” She cocks her head. “By the way, anybody ever tell you how silly you look with soapsuds all over your head?” She grins at him.

“Thor did, when we were small. I told him my prick would always be bigger than his,” came the confident reply. “The truth can be so much crueler than a lie sometimes.”

She shakes her head. “How many times must I say it, Loki? SIZE DOESN’T MATTER; it’s how you _use_ it.” Smirking at him, she starts to oh so slowly work soapy hands over her breasts. She lets her fingertips run slickly around and around, and then she rolls and squeezes her nipples gently. “Why yes, I _am_ a dirty girl,” she says in response to his smoky gaze.

What is making her so bold all of a sudden? Maybe it’s the fact that Loki seems to so obviously enjoy watching. Even now, she can see the struggle in him to keep away from her, to watch and not _touch_ ; he stretches his arms along the top edge of the pool, his long arms nearly encompassing half the length of its rim. His fingers move restlessly against the rough rocky edges, like the tail of a hunting cat. 

Heavy-lidded, he watches her closely indeed. His lovely, capricious little pet. So very full of surprises.

Her fingers glide down her stomach, making small circles the whole way, and then she raises a foot out of the water and places it on the pool’s rim, spreading herself wide. She doesn’t miss the tiny sound Loki makes as she does so. She meets his eyes, wordlessly challenging him as she starts to work the lather into her curls.

His loins ache as he watches her tease herself, gentle strokes around every petal, then she sweeps her fingers across the tender little bud, biting her lip as she does so, and her eyes never leave his.

“Feel free to touch yourself, Loki,” she purrs huskily. “Why not give each other a show?”

He has half a mind to refuse but his own ache drives him. He drops a hand into the heated waters and closes his fingers lightly around his rapidly growing length.

“I can’t see anything,” she complains, motioning him towards the stairs at pool’s side. 

“You _shall_ ,” Loki assures her, scooping some soap from the bowl on his way to ease the passage of his fingers on his shaft as he drapes himself languidly over the stairs.

The touch is easy and familiar; habits begun in secret and given much practice over the years. Loki remembers Thor being much enamored of ‘spilling himself into the Milky Way’ as he called it, and there were years when it was as much a daily ritual as feasting.

Still, having his pet watch sends a frisson of delight through him. To be observed, possibly admired and lusted for--very gratifying. Loki lightly caresses himself, letting the slickness of the soap help his hand glide along the underside of the shaft. The fur at his groin is dark and sleek, gleaming with water droplets as he lightly cups himself

Slow strokes, delicate squeezes along his shaft, hand moving in an unrushed rhythm. Loki risks looking over at his pet, and feels himself throb when he sees her expression.

Now it’s _her_ turn to make small sounds deep in her throat, and by the glitter of her gaze it’s clear to Loki that he has her undivided attention. He flashes her a wicked grin. “Admiring my . . . staff?”

“You could say that,” his pet says in a slightly dazed tone, and he notices when she leans forward.

“Mmmm,” Loki chuckles. “Given how very accommodating you’ve been, it’s fond of you too.”

She shakes her head and half-smiles, her small hand still gently working between her legs. Loki wonders how much longer before her need drives her to pounce upon him.

He’s so beautiful, if one can say that about a man, and as much as Star enjoys watching him, as much as it feels good to touch herself, her impatience grows quickly. Finally she can’t wait any longer; she jumps into the pool and dunks herself fully, rinsing all the soap away, then approaches him. “Well, that’s about as clean as I am capable of getting,” she jokes, winking at him. “Your turn.”

She scoops up more soap and makes short work of his arms, legs, and belly, deliberately ignoring his ‘staff’ for now. He raises a brow when she orders him to turn on his side so she can do his back, but he doesn’t argue, and she can’t resist washing his muscular rear, though given the story he told her earlier, she doesn’t allow herself to touch too roughly (much as she wants to dig her fingers into those hard cheeks) or to linger long.

“You are very...thorough,” he comments when she’s done and he rolls back into his previous position.

She laughs. “I have an almost four-year-old. Sometimes it feels like all I do is give baths! It’s a lot more fun to clean a lean and mean god, though.” 

His prick fills her grip easily, and he has to resist hunching his hips forward as her hands tighten and slide. One of her hands moves up and down his shaft, the other cups the head, pressing fingers into the pulsing, soft flesh, and finally Loki can take no more, scooping her up with a low growl vibrating in his chest. 

He tosses her lightly back into the water, the splash washing over the rim of the pool, then he dunks and rinses all the soap from himself. Like the predator he is, he stays fully under the water until he has Star leashed in his grip, and then he rises to his full height, taking his willing prey up with him.

“We have acquired treasures we must indulge in,” Loki reminds her. “Let us see how you react to your toys, pet, but first--sustenance. It will allow us time to dry off.”

There is logic to his plan, and they end up at the little table near the fireplace, indulging in warm venison dressed with lingonberries. Loki has the manners of an aristocrat--nothing like the sloppy excesses of most Asgardians. He makes sure his pet has enough to eat and drink, pleased to be able to provide.

After all, they will require the fuel, if he judges his pretty kitten rightly.

The bags are still on the floor, and Loki motions to the ghostly hands, beckoning them to retrieve. When they do, he unpacks the one with Star’s selections, and eyes the toys for a moment, well-aware that she is watching.

He holds up the vibrator. “Supplanter?”

She shudders slightly in anticipation, a corner of her mouth quirking. “It can’t mow the lawn, my Lord. Your position of authority over me is safe.” She grins over at him. “I do believe I asked to be tied down first, as I recall.” She tips him a little curtsey, silly as that is given her nudity.

Loki nods and the ghostly hands fly to grab her wrists and ankles. They lift her from the floor and carry her to the bed, dropping her there and shifting her until she’s spread eagle on the furs, unable to do more than wriggle under their secure grip. Loki wipes his mouth and wanders over, carrying the vibrator like a royal scepter. He hums a little, looking down the length of the toy, studying it. “Hmmmm, interesting.”

The predictable blush stains her cheeks. “I hope so,” she observes. “Although if you’re that curious, I’m sure I could be persuaded to use that on _you_ , at a later date.” Saucily, she winks at him. She tugs a little but the ghost-hands have zero give. “That looks like a particularly dangerous weapon in your hands. Does SHIELD know?” she continues, unable to resist the urge to tease. It’s the sole weapon _she_ has at the moment.

He gives the toy an absent stroke, knowing the action looks naughty. “I have no doubt Fury and his merry band of thugs have many toys of their own, not that I wish to think of them at this moment. Difficult enough to banish the thought of Thor in a gown.”

His pet snorts a giggle, and Loki moves to the side of the bed, resting a hip on it and looking from her to the toy in his hands. “So, this image of man . . . it shivers.  Let us test it on your skin then.” Loki gives it a twist and swings it to ever so lightly touch the crook of one of his pet’s elbows.

She sucks in a breath and closes her eyes. “Not bad,” she opines with a little smile. “A little ticklish. Good thing you’re holding me down. All in the name of research, I’m sure.”

Loki turns the toy and runs it along his own elbow experimentally, cocking his head at the sensations. “Interesting,” he repeats. “In my feminine form this _would_ be tempting.”

Before his pet can speak, he shifts it back to her, running it lightly under her breasts, quick enough to tease, and slow enough to be enjoyed. He does the same over her collarbones, circling down closer to her nipples but not touching them.

She groans and tries to arch up into the tingly touch. “You’re such a tease, my Lord.” She meets his gaze, holding it as she licks her dry lips slowly. And suggestively. 

She aches, but the truth is she doesn’t mind as much as with their previous encounters; sometimes it’s nice to savour a slower approach. 

Loki hums a little and moves the toy carelessly over her lips, then circles it back to flick each nipple. For a while he alternates touching her mouth and nipples, making sure each cycle is a different, unpredictable speed; sometimes quick, sometimes achingly slow. He can almost _see_ the heat rise from her skin, and the pebbly surface of her nipples look so firm as to be on the edge of painful.

“Which should I kiss first, pretty pet?” he asks. “Whatever you choose, the toy will go to the other.”

She can’t decide -- either possibility has too much potential. It’s not like her brain is at optimal function either, thanks to a certain God. “I dictated which toys and being tied down. Seems only fair to let you decide which part of me you would kiss first, my Prince.”

Before the words have even finished leaving her mouth, Loki brushes it with the toy and catches one nipple in his teeth, giving just enough pressure to the nub to make her groan loudly. He leaves the nipple wet and moves to the other one, repeating the action, then blows his cool breath over both of them. His pet writhes, hips twisting as the toy circles her lips when she pants.

The mix of pleasure-pain-cold makes her squirm against the restraining hands, wetness gathering between her legs. Her tongue flicks out to touch the toy, running along the raised ridges on its surface. It makes her even hotter to imagine what those ridges are going to do to her, moving deep inside her. 

Loki leans over and presses the very tip of the vibrator against her bottom lip. “You wanted a taste?” he asks, waiting to hear her reply.

Experimentally, she takes the toy into her mouth, but it’s a strange sensation; the vibrations moving against her teeth are not exactly pleasant. 

She twists her face until the vibrator slips out of her mouth. “I’d rather taste _you_ ,” she purrs, a rasp at the edge of her voice.“Your lips, or your nipples, or....whatever other part of you that you want to feed me.” She licks her lips again, sensuously, raking her gaze down the long length of his pale body.

Loki shakes his head, hair swinging as he does so. “This is all about your shiny new toys, sweet pet. We have not even unwrapped the other, have we? Perhaps now is the time.”

He rises and moves back to the bags, pulling out the pair of heavy beads, examining them with interest. They are cheekily designed like large cherries, and Loki balances them from hand to hand, chuckling.

Her mouth drops open as she considers the possibilities. “You’re not actually going to...use _both_ toys on me at the same time, are you?” She squirms against the hands, heat threading through all her limbs as her brain arrests on one mental image: the beads being inside her while Loki uses the vibrator on her nub... “Ungh, you’re going to just kill me, Loki. I doubt whatever collar you’ve chosen for me will look half as pretty on my _corpse_.”

“Is it not a saying of your people--’the more, the merrier?’ “ Loki asks, striving for innocence but with a gleam in his bright eyes. “I have faith in you, pet--you have amazing reserves of lust, and an appetizing . . . flexibility.” He rolls the bright red orbs in one hand as he strides back to the bed, looking like a juggler readying himself for a show. 

The look on her face--half pout, half breathless desire--sends a sweet shiver through him, and he savors it. One word, of course, one _serious_ protest and he would leave the second toy aside, but it _is_ fun to make her live up to her suggestions.

He kneels down on the bed and runs a hand up her thigh, and she quivers in anticipation. Sometimes she wonders if he lied about his ability to read minds, and he’s using it against her. Such are the dangers of sleeping with a God of Mischief? “We also say ‘sometimes _less_ is more’,” she replies tartly to his last remark. 

“Very well,” Loki sighs, and tosses the balls into the air, where another pair of ghostly hands catch them and return them to the bag. “Another time for the inner planets, then.”

He reaches again for the first toy, bringing it inside one of her legs, letting it meander on her skin. In no particular pattern, Loki uses it to trace along the edges of her mound, circling her navel and making it dance along each hipbone before moving the sensations around each thigh and back down to the sensitive places behind her knees. 

She groans, already figuring out where this is going -- or rather, NOT going. He’s going to make her beg, she can tell it just from his eyes. “OK, OK, do as you will with me, my Lord. Use whichever toys you want, _please_.” Otherwise, she thinks he really _will_ tease her to death. 

Loki looks up the length of her body, solicitous. “Oh, but I think this one is pleasing you very well all on its own. Clever thing. Let us see if it delivers what its design promises.” Lightly he draws it up along the inside of one thigh and skims it over the lips of her sex, brushing them lightly and pulling back for a few seconds before applying the toy again, the hum almost musical.

Star writhes, biting her lip and arching her head back, and Loki lightens the touch, setting the vibrations at a slower level. He leans over his pet’s body, bringing his face close to hers, words a deep whisper. “Shall I slide this beauty into you? Let it thrum deep inside while I let my tongue dance on the thicket of your sex?”

He can tell the thought is driving her mad and the thrill of watching that is enthralling too. Loki knows well that not _every_ intimate moment needs to end in spilled seed, and that the pleasure of driving his little pet into a frenzy is as delicious as coupling with her. She is a vision like this, restless, erotic, totally caught up in desire.

A loud whimper escapes her lips. _Oh God_. She wants that, oh yes. NEEDS and wants it. But if she says as much, will he refuse, just to keep on tormenting her? She tries to thrash against the binding hands, but it’s useless. Heat twists along her skin, her nerves, as she imagines what it will feel like, toy and tongue working her in unison. “Please, please, Loki. I want- I _need_ that, yes.” Then, because his lips are so close to hers, she turns her head, trying to kiss them. 

He lightly kisses her and nods. “Then you shall have it,” Loki promises, and shifts to lean over her hips, fingers of his free hand lightly sliding up the wet seam of her sex, parting the delicate petals there. He lightly presses the tip of the toy in; not far, but enough to let her know what the sensation will be like. When his lovely Star arches up, he bends down to let his tongue flick against the stiff little nub barely visible.

With elegant dexterity, Loki alternates between gentle licks and slow thrusts of the toy, maintaining a deliberate rhythm as he does so. It’s exhilarating to feel his pet tense, to taste her growing climax and he lets it build for a few minutes before slowing down. The second time, however, he takes pity on her whimpers and groans, and slides the toy deep as he suckles her bud.

She arches up against his mouth, light sweat along her body, muscles clenched in pleasure, and the sounds his pet makes--the cries of delight and satisfaction--are sweet music to him. This power, this ability to make an intelligent woman nothing more than a puddle of sensation and bliss is a secret delight, and Loki savors it. This is what defines a god, truly.

“Loki,” she gasps as sanity returns. The ghostly hands release her as he gently slides the toy out, but his tongue remains, tasting the sweet results of his efforts, wringing a few smaller shudders of ecstasy from her. 

Once he is done, leaving her spent and practically lifeless, she closes her eyes again at the memory of the feeling of each ridge passing into --or out-- of her, one by one, and Loki’s tongue sweeping across her bud each time, driving her higher and higher....

She clears her throat and laughs softly. “I’ll have to put what we just did into an erotic story. Hell, I’ll have to put _everything_ we’ve done since we met into fiction, somehow.” She stretches languorously, from fingertip to toe-tip. “With your permission, of course, my Prince,” she adds.

“A saga worth the time,” Loki agrees, tossing the toy in the air and having a ghostly hand catch it. “So your toy meets with your approval?”

She laughs again. “You could say that. The fact I just came so embarrassingly loudly didn’t give you a clue?” She grins up at him.

“I suspected,” he nods, “although part of the skill lies with he who wields it.”

Loki reaches for her and catches her chin in his hand, making her look up at him. “There is more to this, though.”

She furrows her brow. “Uh, what?” She’s not sure what he’s referring to. The toy? Their -- if she’s not being presumptuous -- relationship? She struggles to order her thoughts. “I’m not following you.”

He gives a little smile, his gaze mysterious. “Bonding, little one. Pleasure is the tie that binds us, and it is a strong one. Next time we shall see what other mischief we can make for each other. For now, though, I have a king to deceive and you have a confection to finish. And I have been promised the first piece.”

She sighs -- back to the real world again. She knows better than to ask him about kings and deceptions, much as she wants to.

“OK, but can I have a little nap first? I need enough energy to actually make the pie. That is, unless, you want to _help_....or can get your disembodied hands to. Or both. I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Next time.” Smiling, she trails a hand down his chest towards his groin.

Gently, he removes her hand. “The temptation is great, but my plans take me elsewhere,” he reminds her, but kindly. Instead, he nudges her onto her side and curls himself around her small back, allowing her to find sleep.

Too short a time later by her estimation, she wakes reluctantly, but obeys his gesture to rise and dress herself. She retrieves her bra, balling it up and holding it in her hand as she slips the pink dress back on. 

Loki steps behind her, pulling her firm against his body, and in a blinding instant they are back in her kitchen. She does not ask him this time whether her family will wake or not, she just changes quickly back into suitable clothes.

That’s when the most shocking development of Loki’s entire visit occurs -- he actually _helps_ her. He, the God of Mischief, and not a single one of his ‘helping hands’ is in evidence.

He disdains peeling the apples (not a surprise), but measuring out the spices interests him, as do the finicky mechanics of mixing and rolling out the pastry. Star has to restrain a laugh at the sight of Loki with flour on his prim suit jacket....and nose. She kisses that particular dusting of flour away.

The pie takes some time to bake, but Star barely notices, as Loki pulls her onto the couch and starts flipping through the channels, though he’s most interested in the Game of Thrones Season 2 DVD (again, not a surprise). 

Once the ‘confection’ is done, Star sets it down on the counter. “Perhaps you could use your Jotunn powers to cool it, my Lord? Unless you prefer to wait...”

He shakes his head but looks regretful. “No. There are matters which, sadly, I must attend to. And I must conserve my magic for them; else I would be more than willing to arrest time again. However--”

His hand turns palely blue as he touches the pie, cooling it instantly.

Smiling, she reaches for a plate and fork, but then she hesitates. “One more favour I must ask, my Prince,” she says hesitantly.

He smirks indulgently. “The first bite is promised; you cannot take that back.”

“Never that,” she counters, smiling. “If I give you a piece, my husband and colleagues will wonder where it went! So I think I need you to cast one of your illusions to hide that fact.”

Loki inclines his head regally. “Consider it done.”

Then comes the anxious moment for her. Everyone has always complimented her on her baking skills, but by ‘everyone’, that means _humans_. But what a Norse _God_ will think--

He chews the first forkful slowly, then meets her gaze. “Delectable; the tang reminds me of your own flavor,” he purrs huskily, and she blushes. 

“Not quite the same as chocolate, but still worthy of the feasting tables of Asgard.” He arches an eyebrow at her and scoops up another forkful, even as he waves extravagantly with his free hand. Before her eyes, the pie on the counter is whole again. 

She grins. “Glad you are enjoying it, Dark Lord.” She starts to wrap the pie in plastic wrap. “I’m sure I could be persuaded to make you something with chocolate in the future. Mousse, maybe. If that interests you, you know where to find me,” she adds over her shoulder to him. “And how to _motivate_ me to do so, I’m sure.” 

His dangerous smirk is all the answer she requires.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack!fic; Star decides Loki needs an attitude adjustment. And a little discipline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not ours, we’re just borrowing Loki for a short time. We’ll give him back at some future point. Honest!  
> Authors’ Note: Starhawk wrote the OFC’s POV, and Cincoflex wrote Loki’s.

  
Banner made by **cincoflex**!

Battlesore. 

He doesn’t often have to resort to physical fighting, not with his many tricks and magic, but now and again it does come to brute strength, and this last was one of those times. 

Victorious, of course, but at a price. Loki knows his body will heal bruises and contusions easily, but the unsettled restlessness will take longer. Even in success there is a period of time when the spirit needs support, and distraction. It has been nearly three weeks since he has been with his pet, and the thought of her is a balm to his thoughts. Loki decides that time with his feisty little pet is in order, and soon.

\--oo00oo--

Star swipes sweat out of her eyes, cursing the hot sun beating down as her feet pound on the trail.

She’s never been a fan of jogging, but it’s inexpensive and she can work out whenever she wants. And she can _eat_ pretty much whatever she wants, so long as she exercises. She learned that lesson back in grad school. 

_ Come on _ , she coaches herself, _just until that park bench over there_. Once there, she walks for about a minute. She’s almost done, so once she’s judged herself ready, she begins to jog again. This is the last leg; as soon as she crosses the bike path and makes it down to the street, she’ll slow to a walk until she gets back to her condo--

A flash of light envelops her, and she stumbles, confused. _Lightning,_ on a sunny day?

Loki watches as his pet reels and catches herself, not tumbling to the ground, but definitely not steady on her feet. When she regains her senses, he smiles at her and steps closer. “Found you,” he tells her smugly, and then wrinkles his nose. “You too, have been in battle?” Loki asks, eyeing her pink face and damp brow.

In his restlessness he has shifted his Hall, and now it sits on the edge of a cliff, sheltered on one side by the craggy mountain, and on the other, the spectacular view of the wild sea looms below. Most of his comforts remain the same, although there are new treasures carelessly tossed into corners.

“What?” she asks, finally finding her feet. She turns off her mp3 player and pulls the ear buds out, panting and then bending and bracing her hands on her knees. She winces inwardly to realize how the oversized red tee-shirt she jogs in is stuck to her skin with sweat, and her face feels sticky and damp. She’s in dire need of a cold shower and deodorant. Loki didn’t pick the best time to kidnap her!

“You are . . . battle-worn,” Loki tells her, looking slightly vexed. “As am I. Attend me; we shall bathe.”

She blinks at him, her brain still fogged by her runner’s high. “‘ Battle ’? Hell no. My kickboxing days are long behind me. . .and that was for exercise only, not competition. I was jogging. Not fighting.” She chuckles. Then she recalls: “I take it your ‘deception’ didn’t work on that king?”

Loki blinks back at her, rubbing his nose with one hand. “It . . . very nearly did. And I defeated him in the end; that is all that matters. There will be time enough to tell of it after you bathe me.”

Star raises a brow. “Bathe you? Uh, d’you mind if I catch my breath first, please and thank you? In case you weren’t listening, I was in the middle of _running_.” She tugs at her soaked shirt to make her point.

Loki however, is not looking. Instead he’s peeling off parts of his armor and dropping them carelessly to the rug, uncovering his pale, lean torso which is spotted here and there with lavender bruises and the occasional scrape. The muscles are sinewy and long; definitely distracting. When he looks up, a lock of hair falls over his forehead and his mouth is in a thin, impatient line.

She winces all over again to see the bruising. “Are- are you OK?” She walks hesitantly to him, stretching out careful fingertips to brush the lock of hair off his forehead.

Loki glances down at himself and gives a shrug. “I was worse, against the green one with your Avengers. This will heal soon. Why are you still dressed?” Clumsily he reaches for her shirt, tugging it up with impatient hands.

She rolls her eyes at his brusque manner and starts to strip down. “They are not ‘my’ Avengers, you can’t pin that on me,” she mutters, wondering at his mood. “And can I get a drink of water first, O Impatient One? Before I weaken from, you know, _dehydration_?”

“Fine, fine,” Loki mutters with ill-grace. “I’m _so_ glad your delight in seeing me again shines through.” It’s a snide remark and he knows it, but some imp within him seems to have gotten a hold of his tongue, making him sharper than usual. “And you are of Midgard, so yes, they are _your_ Avengers. Stark took it upon himself to speak for the entire planet.”

She shakes her head. “If this is how you are when you win your battles, remind me to absent myself when you _lose_ ,” she mutters. Naked, she goes to stand near the entrance to the stairs leading down to the bathing pool - or where they would be, had Loki bothered to open the floor yet! - looking around for a ghostly hand. Can she make them do her bidding? “Water, please.” She says flatly to the air, by way of experiment.

A hand glides over, holding a horn cup and presents it to her; the water in it is refreshing and icy-cold. Loki flexes his shoulders, looking both sullen and vulnerable as he stands there shirtless.

Interesting. She hadn’t expected Loki’s servants to respond to her.

Star drains the cup, then hands it back. “Well?” she asks Loki tartly. “You wanted to bathe, let’s go. Or am I somehow expected to know the magic spell to open the way to the pool?” Sarcastically, she spreads her arms and says loudly: “Open sesame!”

The stones on the floor do not budge. Annoyed, Loki waves to a pair of hands to carry the soiled clothing--his and hers--away. “You are expected to provide comfort,” he murmurs, and gestures to the floor, making a circular gesture that spins open the tiles like an iris. The stones that form the stairs click into place, and from below the steam of the water carries the scent of the sea. Loki waves to them, waiting for her to move.

She huffs in annoyance and descends the stairs, then sloshes into the hot pool. All her resolve to _submit,_ to surrender gracefully has evaporated. It is almost as if they are back at their first encounter, as if all the ground gained during her last time with him has been lost. They’re butting heads, and it’s only escalating. 

Star should probably play the demure little pet, but she doesn’t want to. Not until he loses his black mood, at least a little. She wonders what other options are available to her -- if she dares to take them.

Loki follows his pet, feeling a sense of despair. Why could she not understand? He fumes a bit, wishing there was a way to put the matter into words. He had triumphed, but the victory had not felt complete. The hollowness is eating at him, and he wants . . . comfort. Wants to be praised and petted and told how well he has done.

Victory is hardly victory if there is no-one to share it with, Loki broods. His pet hasn’t even _asked_ about it!

She doesn’t wait for Loki to descend the stairs and remove the rest of his clothing before she’s out of the water and seated on the rim of the pool, washing herself with the usual green lotion. Her movements are quick, entirely utilitarian, her eyes bent on the pool’s waters rather than looking in his direction. Star makes no attempt to tease herself, or him, just to get clean as rapidly as possible.

Why does she feel like this? Because he yanked her out of her own life so abruptly, and then within moments, they were at odds? Had he been affectionate, or kind (as kind as he is capable of, at any rate), or seductive, or at least given her space to catch her breath. . .but no, he is peevish, and that is distinctly UN-attractive.

She tumbles back into the water to rinse, then turns her back on Loki and briefly scrubs her hair. A quick dunk later and, eyes still resolutely lowered, she scoops more lotion from the bowl and approaches him, her mouth pressed into a hard line as she attends to him.

Star cleanses him much the same way - quickly and efficiently, not letting her hands linger or explore, though she takes extra care over his bruises and scrapes. She can feel his gaze searing into the top of her head, but he is blocking her escape, so as soon as she is finished she retreats to her side of the pool, and _waits_ uncomfortably.

“You are not pleased to see me,” Loki concludes glumly, not meeting her eyes. “I will not force you to do what does not come from your own desire for me, little pet, even though I have need of you.”  He rolls his head from shoulder to shoulder, fighting a wince as he does so. “Not even a kiss of greeting for me.”

He’s more mercurial than her preschooler. She shakes her head and approaches him again, sliding her hands up his firm chest and shoulders and taking his face between her palms, drawing him down for a deep kiss. 

“Look, I don’t understand what’s going on here at all. I can only apologize for not being in the mood right away, because that’s not how I’m wired. You can’t yank me out of the middle of my life without any warning and not expect me to need some time to _adjust,_ to catch my breath.” She presses her forehead to his and curls her fingers through his wet hair. “Is there something you wanted to talk about? I know you talked about leaving our lives and problems behind us while we’re here, but we can drop that if you really need to unburden yourself.”

Loki scowls a bit, but submits to her touches with visible relaxation. “I suppose I did assume much in simply retrieving you, but that is my way, pet. I cannot send word to you by messenger when I have desires for you. And I am . . .” he struggles to put it into words, “ill at ease. I cannot say why, but my mood is foul and I cannot shake it at the moment. I am . . . untethered.”

He makes a fist and drops it hard on the side of the pool, chipping one of the stones. “ _Nothing_ pleases me at the moment, not even my victory.”

Star swallows nervously, looking at the damaged rock out of the corner of her eye. How is he supposed to be a good Dom while he’s tense enough to break the, um, furniture? And easily displeased, to boot?

But he is relaxing under her hands, which gives her an idea.

“Follow me, Lord,” she coaxes as she climbs out of the pool. At the top of the stairs, she pauses and says: “Robe, please?” to the air.

Two ghostly hands flutter up, carrying a sandy peach colored robe to her.

Loki follows her up the steps, watching as she slips herself into the robe. He frowns. “You will not need that. I prefer you bare.” With a snap of his fingers the robe disappears even as Star attempts to tie it shut.

She rolls her eyes. “As my Lord wills,” she grits out. She closes her eyes, tries to tame her irritation. That’s when her calf muscle twinges. Uh-oh, she never stretched after her run. Bad idea.

She’d rather not sit bare-assed on the cold floor, so she goes over to the dragon-and-snake carpet and sits down, stretching out the offending leg. “I don’t suppose you have any of that silene oil you mentioned in your email messages kicking around in here, do you?” she asks mid-stretch.

One of the ghostly hands brings her a small stone bottle; Loki turns his back to her and dries off with a towel.

She takes it. “Can I get a towel, too, please?” If she’s going to be forced to do all this naked and all-but-soaking wet, Loki had better have one powerful anti-illness spell handy. 

She is really not liking all this leftover aggression directed at her. He’s _better_ than that. Star sets her shoulders and walks over to him after the ghostly hand brings her the towel. She wipes herself down quickly, then uncorks the bottle and spills some into her palm, reaching towards his chest. She doesn’t meet his eyes, lest she set him off again, she keeps her gaze instead on the motion of her hands on his smooth flesh.

Loki holds back, submitting to her touch, longing to relax under it, but he can tell his pet is on edge; tense. 

Inspiration strikes. “Why don’t you go lie down on the bed, my Prince?” she suggests, her voice a little stronger as she wipes the excess oil from his pectorals with the towel. “On your front,” she adds. Now she won’t have to feel his glower on the top of her skull. Win-win.

His expression is decidedly sour, but he tosses his towel aside and wordlessly stalks over to the bed, dropping himself onto it with a lot less than his usual grace.

“Here goes nothing,” she mutters to herself. She settles down next to his side on the bed, applying the oil to the back of his neck and his strong shoulders. He’d said it enhanced sensation, if she remembers correctly, which she hopes will help improve matters.

His skin is soft and his muscles hard, and despite her own misgivings she enjoys touching him, relaxing into the rhythm as her palms make long strokes down his arms, her fingers pressing into his muscles. Next she anoints his back and spine, then his lean legs, and finally she rubs the oil into his backside, squeezing the firm mounds gently, unable to withhold a little smile. She sits back to take a quick break, shaking out her hands and smiling down at the smears of oil on herself.

Loving physical contact like this always improves _her_ mood. She hopes it’s doing the same for him. “Time to turn over, my Lord,” she suggests. “Am I pleasing you thus far?” 

His voice is a deep purr. “Mmmmm.” His pet has a marvelous sense of touch and already his tension is ebbing. “Keep going until I give you permission to stop.”

She rolls her eyes, all her irritation swiftly returning. He chided her a short while ago for not kissing him, but has he touched _her_ at all this entire time (pulling on her shirt does _not_ count)? Has he made any effort to reciprocate at all? NO, goddamn him. “You know what? I think someone needs an attitude adjustment.” 

She gets off the bed, her movements stiff with annoyance. Quickly she scans Loki’s hall, then decides the throne of wood and marble is the ideal place for her right now. She tromps over and seats herself on it, then pins Loki with her best imperious glare. Star points to the little fur cushion next to the throne. “Sit!” she commands. _Take that,_ she thinks.

Loki looks over from the bed, astonished. The lovely stroking is over for now and probably for a while, judging from the look on his pet’s face. She is scowling, and the expression ignites a low heat in his belly, a fury heavily infused with desire. Two thoughts occur simultaneously: _How DARE she?_ and _How magnificent!_

The latter one makes him blink. _Magnificent?_ Those pursed pretty lips, those blazing eyes, that unconscious command . . . yes, Loki admits reluctantly. His petite Star IS.

But this _isn’t_ the way this moment is supposed to go, he argues, and rolls over to stare at her. It’s unfortunate that a certain hefty part of his body is traitorously enthusiastic to the sight of her on the throne. “What?” Loki asks, daring her to repeat her command.

She glares. “You heard me. You told me last time that _I_ was in charge. Well, now I call upon you to _prove_ it, Loki of Asgard. And you will address me _properly_. Or-” she pauses for dramatic effect. “send me home, and you will go wanting. Decide, and quickly.”

Star steeples her hands and does her best to look utterly bored.

For the first time in ages--eons--he’s speechless. People do _not_ defy him. Oh the bluster of other super-beings doesn’t count, not in this context. His pet, his luscious little Star is sitting there in her gloriously nude self and waiting for him to do her bidding.

It’s outrageous, and dangerous, and . . . and . . . arousing.

This is a woman he could obliterate with a snap of his fingers, and yet his betraying lust is surging forth at her hard tone. Loki finds himself uncertainly sitting up and staring at her.

She permits a second or two to pass, then sighs theatrically. Star wishes she knew how to snap her fingers, as she would try that, snapping them and pointing to the cushion again. But she can’t, so reluctantly she moves to threats. “How disappointing.” She rises to her feet, and then in her best ‘I-am-Goddess-Hear-Me-Roar’ voice, she commands the ghostly hands: “Bring me my garments! I see I shall be leaving shortly.” It’s all a sham, of course; she can’t get out of Loki’s magical pied-à-terre without his cooperation. But she thinks - hopes- he will capitulate soon. His obvious desire practically screams it. 

“No,” Loki manages in a rough, unbelieving whisper. He’s on his feet and moving towards her now, arms out uselessly. One of the ghostly hands bumps his shoulder, carrying the newly cleaned garments.

“Better,” she says with a hint of approval in her voice. She waves the ghostly servant away and sits back down on the throne, crossing her legs. Then she raises a brow at him. “Kneel, and address me properly. NOW.”

Loki chews his lip. He feels the rush of impatient anger within him, yes, the frustration and hurt are still there, but his pet’s tone touches something else deep inside. Something that wants to come forth, despite his petty pride. For a moment he considers defying her and sending her home--without her clothes--but common sense, and yes, some sweeter emotion stops him, and he lifts his chin.

He kneels, gracefully, but keeps his gaze upon her. “How can I address you when you haven’t told me what to call you? ‘Pet’ is hardly appropriate when the . . . leash . . . is in _your_ hand.”

She raises the other brow. “You told me you had experience being in this. . .position. Surely you know the usual address for one of my _status_.”

He fights a quick snicker, all-too-aware of what terms he might use. “My queen, my mistress, my goddess--which do you prefer, She-who-must-be-obeyed?”

She cocks her head, eyes narrowing. “‘Mistress’? Isn’t that what you called She Who Brings Grief?”

For a moment Loki falters. “Yes.”

She laughs mockingly. “Her? Any common _whore_ -” she uses the word deliberately, just to see the look of shock on Loki’s face- “can ensnare man or god using magic. But to bind a God to me with _love,_ ” she leans forward in her chair, dropping her voice to a low purr. “That is true power, do you not agree?” 

She strongly hopes that Angr-whatshername is not listening!

After a long pause, Loki takes a deep breath. “What you say is true . . . .”

“So no, I am not your ‘ _mistress_ ’,” she continues, sneering the last word. “Nor am I a goddess, alas...I think that, given you tried to style yourself as king of Midgard and Asgard both, you will address me as ‘my queen’. Is that understood?”

Loki holds her gaze, a thousand emotions roiling through him: anger, lust, fear and tying it all in a knot, pride. _So beautiful_ , he thinks. He dips his head briefly. “Yes, my queen.”

“I adore how my title sounds, rolling off your renowned silver tongue.” Again she silently curses her inability to snap her fingers. “Here,” she orders, pointing to the cushion next to the throne. HER throne, for now.

Loki moves, not hurrying, his limbs unfolding and refolding as he shifts to the indicated position. It’s mildly uncomfortable given his bruises, but he’s too fascinated to argue for the moment, wondering exactly what his pet--his queen--has in mind.

It dawns on him too, that he’s so caught up that his restlessness has abated somewhat. Quietly he kneels, waiting for instruction, hands crossed behind him, body straight.

She reaches out, letting her fingers caress his hair, threading gently through the still-damp waves. “We need a name for _you_ , do we not?” She half-closes her eyes, pretending to consider as she continues to stroke his head almost absently. 

“Kinglet? Princeling?” she muses out loud. “No, I do not like any of those....ah, I have it! You are my ice prince. _Mine_. Remember that.”

Loki says nothing, fighting an urge to shift. The hand on his head is light and the touch gentle; he savors it, although admitting that would be a sign of weakness. Instead, he makes a small sound deep in his throat, not quite an agreement to her terms, a small hint of defiance.

He’s resisting, but Star chooses to let it go. This time. “Tell me, my ice prince, all about your recent victory.” She presses her fingertips harder into his thick jet hair, massaging his scalp in slow circles. “I want to hear about your strength and cunning. Let me know that I chose well in making you _mine._ ” He’s trembling ever so slightly, she can feel it. Whatever is eating him, he needs to let it go. Let it _all_ go.

“Borovalla was cunning, but not cunning enough,” Loki begins slowly. He tells about the bargain, and about the king’s betrayal, how Loki had to fight him and his bodyguards to escape with the three powerful pieces he’d sought. It’s a good tale, embellished in all the right places, and Loki feels better for having told it.

He also feels better for the soothing touch through his hair, gentle and caring. Touch has never been easy for Loki, who lacks Thor’s easygoing way with bear hugs and embraces. Still, he savors it, longs for it and from his pet, luxuriates in it. Her fingers are strong and light, her caresses deliberate.

Loki wonders if he is part cat, and if his purring is audible.

She smirks as Loki leans ever-so-slightly into her touch. “Strong, brave, intelligent. Yes, I chose well indeed.” She can almost feel him preening at her words. Star allows her fingers to slide down, caressing and massaging the back of his neck. She leans a little towards him. “And now tell me, my ice prince, what did you initially plan for us to do together, when you brought me here today?” She hopes he gives her some ideas on what to do next -- there’s a reason she usually plays the sub; being a Dom is hard work!

“I had thought to use the fire stone,” Loki murmurs. “From the staff. It has . . . many capacities. Heat. Cold. Pointed edges. I was going to make you stand while I ran it over your body, and offer you a choice. The more intense the sensation you could take, the more I would pleasure you afterwards, my queen.”

The image makes her quiver deep inside and her nipples stiffen. _Damn_. . . too bad it does not mesh well with their current positions of power. Maybe she can make use of his idea somehow later. “An intriguing plan. Perhaps another time, my ice prince. For now, regale me with what manner of things you would like me to do to _you_.” The beauty of him, totally submissive and subservient to her will, takes her breath away. She presses her fingers a little more firmly against the back of his neck, then trails them around to the front to lightly stroke the backs of her fingers down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows convulsively. “Speak,” she commands when he hesitates, though her tone is milder this time, tender.

“Perhaps for my insolence I deserve to be  . . .  reprimanded?” Loki suggests quietly. He shoots a glance towards the wooden chest at the foot of the bed and continues, his tone lower. “Should my queen choose, there _is_ the soft leather flog of my youth among my belongings. It cannot cut, but stings quite effectively, as I recall.”

Odin had used it exactly twice on him, Loki recalls. Neither occasion hurt; it was meant to humiliate rather than wound. Later, when She Who Brings Grief had used it, Loki had found the sensation intensely satisfying. She hadn’t hurt him either, but the heat of his welts had left him feeling charged with rough lust, and let him escape his own fears for a little while. He would never admit that the stripes they left were private badges of a sort; kisses of a sweet, strange type.

She nods slowly. “Yes, go and fetch it now. I will make use of it in due time.” Good, because she was wondering how exactly she’s supposed to punish a _god_ , especially when superheroes like Captain  America had barely left a mark on Loki’s skin. Her fingers would fall off long before he’d feel anything, she’s quite certain! A flogger created by other gods will serve much better -- and spare her poor hand.

Star watches Loki’s every motion as he goes to retrieve the instrument of his discipline. She has always admired the grace with which he moves. She thinks she would know him anywhere, even while wearing other forms, just by his gait and the ease of his movements.

She motions him to a stop in front of her and holds her hand out for the flogger. Star turns it over and examines it, deliberately slow as he fidgets. She points to the floor. “Kneel,” Star demands, pretending to keep her full attention on the flogger. The tooling of the black and red leathers twisting around the handle is exquisite, and the tails, also of scarlet and jet, are very soft. She strokes them, well aware of Loki’s eyes following the motion of her fingers.

“For now, though-” She reaches for the bottle of silene oil, left sitting on the floor beside the throne. Star turns it around and around in her hands, the flogger left draped across her lap. “Tell me, my prince of stone and snow, is this oil meant to be applied.... _all over_ one’s body?” She looks very deliberately at his rigid prick.

She can feel a mild tingle in her own flesh, where the oil had transferred from his skin to hers as she’d massaged him. And Loki - poor him! - has only had the oil applied to half of his body. That will have to be corrected.

Loki wishes he could stop staring, but the memory of what that flogger feels like is bringing back several strong responses. Those, and the sight of his pet, lounging nude on the throne is riveting. He tries very hard not to lick his lips before speaking. “Um, yes. Yes, my queen,” he corrects himself hurriedly.

She smirks at his swift adjustment. “My clever Loki.” She holds the bottle out to him, “Apply this to all the spots I neglected before. Slowly and thoroughly. And when you are done, you will apply the oil to _me_.” She settles back in the throne, still idly stroking the tails of the whip, putting a finger to her lips and watching him intently.

He takes the bottle and holds it a moment before speaking. “As I am, or should I stand?” Loki keeps his question mostly polite, but there is a little taunt to his words. After all, his pet might appreciate a little of her own back at her. 

She tilts her head and considers. “Kneeling suits you for now. I have no desire to injure my neck, craning it to watch you.” Star gifts him with a half-smile. “Now begin.”

Loki starts, pouring a palm-full of oil and rubbing it in both hands. Carefully he strokes each hip, acutely aware of his pet’s intense gaze. The scrutiny unnerves him slightly; while he has the body of a god, it’s not an Asgardian physique as such. His mother once compared him to a shard of stone, or a stalactite--long and dangerous. He liked the description, and after finding out his true heritage, it certainly seemed apt. But in Star’s eyes, is that enough? 

Carefully Loki strokes his hands down his thighs, already feeling the tingle of the silene seeping into his skin, making it much more receptive to the small drafts through the room.

“How fortunate I am - strong, brave, intelligent, _and_ beautiful,” she muses out loud. “Truly a worthy playmate for any queen.” She gives him a salacious grin. “Continue.”

“As my queen wishes,” Loki murmurs, lowering his gaze and looking at her through his lashes. He reaches for more oil, making a show of pouring it and with a smirk, he runs his hands down his backside, flexing a bit and feeling only *slightly* foolish. The oil slickens his skin and he feels it trickle in . . . interesting places even as his hands caress his muscles.

She has to stifle a giggle; she already DID his backside! Maybe lust is clouding his memory. “Don’t forget that well-toned chest of yours,” Star purrs suggestively. “Would be a shame to leave it out.” She licks her lips slowly.

Loki gives her another flirty glance and lets his hands glide around his hips and up his chest. It’s been ages since he’s preened like this for anyone, and the last time he’d been in his female form, attempting to learn secrets from a potential ally. This time it’s much more intimate, and feels very nice. He lets his palms glide over his flat and firm chest, brushing his nipples lightly. Even so, the jolt of pleasure makes him shiver. Long strokes up his collarbones and neck, then longer ones back down his abdomen to his navel. Nice, but not as nice as when his pet touches him. Loki hopes she will, soon.

Star doesn’t miss his reaction to touching his own nipples, and she files that fact away for future use. Changing her mind about her plan -- at least for the moment-- she beckons him over to her.

Loki moves forward on his knees in a Samurai walk; elegant and alert. He stops just shy of touching her feet, and his gaze falls to the soft little curls between her thighs.

She smirks --oh, he’ll have access to her soon enough! -- and reaches out to him, brushing light fingertips from his cheek to his throat, then down over a rounded pectoral muscle (making sure to catch her nails on his nipple as she does so -- he shivers and makes a low noise), and down his belly. Star pulls her hand back a little and cups it. “Give me some oil, my Loki.” She pulls the flogger from her lap and lets it drape over an armrest of the throne, and his eyes follow it.

He obeys with only the slightest of pauses, then nearly drops the bottle as she wraps her hand around his length, massaging the oil into soft, veined skin. Star pumps his shaft slowly, not touching the head, watching the pearly evidence of his lust bead up at the very tip.

Loki tenses, all attention focused on the overwhelming sensation of his pet’s hand caressing him. So firm, so deliberate . . . it’s difficult to stay still, and he fights his natural instinct to rock into her grip, to rub and let the slickness lead to a deeper stroke. The sensation is amazing and he bites his lips. It has been a long time since their last encounter and his prick is reminding him of that.

“M-my queen,” he manages, nostrils flaring.

“My ice prince,” she replies with a wicked smile. To draw things out even longer, she requests more oil and switches to massaging the heavy muscles of his thighs again, then around the tops of his knees. Her fingers then trail back up to his groin, pausing to stroke across his balls several times. Star rakes light nails across the tightening, heated skin, and as he shudders and softly moans, she lets her hand slip back up once more. Firm fingers slide the entire length of him this time, then close gently around the soft-and-firm head, rubbing the remaining oil and his fluids into pulsing flesh. “Are you enjoying this?” she inquires softly.

“More that you can imagine, my queen,” Loki confesses in a rough purr. “Although if you keep stroking like that, I fear I may lose control of myself.” His hands flex, clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tries to still them. The desire to lunge and simply take her rises up in him in a rebellious wave, but Loki chokes it back, curious to see what else his dear pet may attempt. 

It’s delightful to watch her play, after all.

“Well we can’t have that, now can we?” Smiling, Star leans back against the throne once more. “Better start applying the oil to _me_ ,” she orders. She even dares to close her eyes, though that’s probably a bad idea, taking her eyes off someone as strong and sneaky as Loki, but she wants to enjoy this as completely as possible.

Loki considers the woman before him, seated and posed languorously, although he can see how quick her breathing is. Yes, his little pet is just as aroused as he is, and it’s time to see if he can make her break first. He reaches for one small foot and carefully rests the heel of it on his thigh, making sure it’s close to his shaft before he begins to massage. Such a dainty appendage, and by the feel of it, very sensitive. Loki concentrates, working his long fingers along the ball of the foot, around the arch, and even between her toes. From the chair he hears his pet groan a bit, and shift herself.

He is . . .very good at this, she decides, allowing a low pleasured moan to escape her lips. Perhaps she should order him around more often. Star cracks an eye slightly open, noticing how close her toes are to a certain someone’s lusty appendage. She can’t resist stroking her big toe against it. Prehensile toes do come in handy at times.

The little stroke makes him suppress a growl, and Loki gently reaches for the other foot, hoping to distract Star from this new game. It’s fascinating to realize how . . . competitive they are, he notes. How much pleasure comes from the fact that each of them wants the other to enjoy their time together. Loki smiles up at her and rubs his palms over the other foot. “The view of you from here is  . . . wonderful.”

He has forgotten to address her properly. “‘My queen’,” she corrects him, but gently. She’s feeling generous at the moment. “That’s _nothing_. Finish with my legs, and I’ll give you a _view_ ,” she purr-growls. Foot massages are lovely and all, but she does have other body parts she would enjoy having him attend to sometime this century!

Loki grins to himself; it’s apparent that his touch is definitely stirring up her lust and impatience. With care he leans forward and deftly applies the silene up her calves and shins, smoothing it in little circles around her knees and then along the sleek muscles of her thighs. Memories of them wrapped around his hips makes him stiffer, and Loki finds himself stroking the oil more quickly now, savoring the heat of her skin under his hands. He’s careful, though, and manages to brush the tips of his fingers along the insides of her thighs, barely grazing the soft fluff between them.

Control is even more difficult now, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep focused. 

“We’ll save the best bits for last, shall we?” she asserts slyly. She motions him towards her torso. “You may continue with my neck.” She taps her fingernails on the armrest of the throne, clearly waiting for him to obey.

Loki rises; no easy task without hands, and moves behind the throne, trying not to press his shaft against it too firmly--stone is cold--as he reaches down to brush her hair from her throat.

_ So small, so delicate, _ he thinks and slips a hand to stroke the back of his knuckles against her skin. One grip could almost encircle his pet’s throat, and Loki finds it useful to know as thoughts of a particular piece of ownership spring to mind. However, he begins a slow caress, one hand on either side of her, fingers toying with her pulse points. The urge to lean down and nip strikes him, but he refrains, keeping the idea in mind for another time. A point when HE has the throne again . . .

For the moment Loki concentrates on being a good servant. A perfect servant. 

A tease.

She LOVES neck-rubs, and Loki is giving a very skilled one, and the warming effect of the oil doesn’t harm, either. She purrs low in her throat like the kitten he likes to call her, relaxing under his long fingers. 

_ Too _ relaxed, almost. He keeps working on her neck much longer than she expects, and she rolls her eyes impatiently after some time passes. “A _little_ initiative is not punishable. Unless, of course, that’s what you’re hoping for,” she points out, smirking even though he can’t see it. 

She brushes his hands away from her neck and leans forward in the throne. “Shoulders and back, too, ice prince.” Star picks the flogger up and idly lets the tails hang, spinning the whip with slow circular movements of her wrist. 

Loki feels himself stiffen a bit more at the sight of the flogger and obediently shifts his touch to her shoulders, working his thumbs along her spine in careful strokes. Again he’s struck by how compact his pet is, and how careful he must be with her. He let his fingers slide against her ribs and feels the curve of her breasts. Loki tickles, lightly.

She jerks away, then snorts and slaps at his hand. “You really do want to be reprimanded, I see. Well, when I am ready, you will feel _this_ -” Star snaps the tails of the whip against the side of the throne for emphasis. “When I am ready, and not one second before. You still have a few spots to finish.” She rises to her feet in front of the throne and turns away from him. “Get thee behind me,” she intones, smirking to herself though she’s not sure he’ll understand the reference, “and do the rest of my back. Oh, and my butt isn’t going to oil itself now, is it?”

Loki hesitates for a moment, taken aback by her tone, and then moves towards her, pouring more oil on his hands. “With your permission,” he murmurs and kneels, resting his hands on her hips, running his hands along the little dimples on either side at the base of her spine. He massages the oil in, feeling a little restless now. His palms move over the rounded flare of her bottom, fingers sliding in pretty patterns. The urge to pinch rises . . . 

She glances down over her shoulder at him, smirking. “Don’t even _think_ about it, Loki.” Her skin tingles pleasantly where he just applied the oil, and Star wriggles slightly against his hands. She enjoys the contact regardless - his hands are warm and strong, and seem to know _just_ how to touch her - but the oil is heightening everything, making even the barest brush of skin against skin a sensuous delight. How will even more sensitive parts of her will be affected by the oil? Perhaps it is time to test that.

Without giving him any prior warning she turns, seizes one of his wrists and sits down on the throne again, then places his hand right on her breast, an entirely non-verbal command.

He doesn’t miss a beat, caressing the oil gently into both breasts in soft circles. The warming effects of the oil kick in right away, and she squirms deliciously against the cushions on the throne. His fingers continue circling, moving around and around her nipples until Star growls in warning and impatience, and a smirk flits over his face as his palms finally glide over her aching nipples. 

Loki squeezes both nipples softly, and she barely restrains her cry of pleasure. She grits her teeth to maintain control as the silene starts to affect her, increasing the sensual ache of her nipples and between her thighs. Star’s strongly tempted to just grab him by the back of the neck and pull his head right into her sex . . .but he’s not done yet, she reminds herself firmly. Who knows how often - if ever again- she’ll have this much power over him? Best to take full advantage.

Star narrowly restrains an impatient writhe as his fingers continue downwards, working the oil into her lower ribs and belly, until finally she can stand it no longer, and she hooks one knee over an armrest of the throne. She isn’t quite flexible enough to hook the other knee over the other armrest at the same time, but she trusts she’s still giving Loki plenty to look at. 

“Ah,” he murmurs, gazing at her navel and letting his glance slide lower. “One last section to attend to, my queen.” Loki inclines his head and pours the last of the silene into the cup of his palm. Taking his time, he coats his fingers, flexes them, and begins feather-soft strokes from the inside of her knees up inside her thighs. This is the most sensitive area, he knows. The oil will heat and tingle here most of all, and Loki can see that his pet is trying not to wriggle.

He reaches the sensitive crease between thigh and body, letting his fingers drip a little oil there, and then deliberately _traces_ the outline of her labial lips with an almost artistic touch. It demands his full attention, and Loki keeps his gaze on the lush and slick cleft that seems to taunt him. Wanting it has never stopped, and fighting the desire to simply take it is nearly impossible.

Nearly. 

She is close to moaning aloud, and emboldened, Loki lets one forefinger circle the little bud peeping out at the top, smiling when his pet shudders with pleasure.

Star bites her lip, closing her eyes and tilting her head back against the throne as the sensations break down her meager control. He lets his finger circle her nub again, and this time she can’t restrain a whimper.

She should stop him, probably, she really should. He’ll use this to turn the tables on her, more than likely. But somehow, she just can’t bring herself to order him away. 

He _owes_ her an orgasm after the way he’s acted, Star argues with herself. Decision made, she meets his lustful gaze squarely. “Pleasure me, and I will pleasure _you_ , my Loki.” She gives the flogger a suggestive shake, a snap with no power behind it, but it’s easy to see he understands the message.

Loki  smiles; a look of naughty intentions. “Oh yes, my queen--let me _please_ you.”  He leans forward, fingers still stroking the edges of her lips and lightly parts them before pressing a soft kiss between them, tongue flicking softly.

This he enjoys. The delicate structure of the female sex is both lovely and delicious, and Loki knows how best to tease and tickle, how to pace himself to enjoy the bounty it presents. It’s like feasting on a hot, succulent orchid, and he laps up the citrus tang of his pet’s lust even as he lightly drives her ever closer to orgasm. Carefully, carefully . . . with a soft wet swirl of his tongue he senses exactly how much pressure to use, and the swell of his own lust pulses to her shudders and soft keening.

Loki lightens the press of his mouth, savoring the taste, and the feel of her hands in his hair. The silene tingles along his cheeks but he doesn’t mind; it adds a hint of mint. With a loving slurp, he looks up over the tangle of her at his pet and sighs. “Do you wish another, my queen?”

She pants heavily and blinks down at him, her thoughts fragmented. She should probably say ‘No’ or ‘Later’; she’s not sure she’ll be able to get her arms and legs to function properly _now_ , let alone if he makes her come again . . .but her mouth doesn’t cooperate. “Why not?” Star hears herself say. _Why not indeed?_ She strokes his hair lovingly, then wraps her fingers around his jaw and tugs him to her again, even as a leftover shudder ripples through her.

Loki smiles against the curls and moves his mouth to lick the little creases on each of the insides of her thighs. It’s important to re-establish sensitivity, he knows, and he lets himself nibble the tender skin along her legs, leaving the glistening cleft alone for a little while. He curls his hands under her thighs and his fingers stroke the outside of her legs, all the time aware of her sweet scent.

It’s driving him mad, and the ache in his cock is nearly painful, but Loki knows he can deal with it. His year of training has given him _that_ much, and dimly he’s grateful for the ability to focus. Besides, his pet is nothing if not fair, and she _will_ make sure he’s pleasured in his turn . . .

At least he hopes so. Gently he moves back to her cleft, and makes it a point to blow a cool breath over the little nub, nosing it ever so gently before taking a lip between his teeth and flicking his tongue along its edge. So ripe, his little Star, so beautifully, erotically female. To pleasure her is the ultimate in a lover’s gift, and Loki adores the way she squirms, wanting more of his kisses.

Gently he tips his head and suckles her lips, humming deeply enough to let the vibrations thrum against her skin. She gasps, hands gripping his shoulders now, her fingers digging in. Loki is sure she has said something; probably his name, but he concentrates on sliding his parted lips up and down along the seam of her sex. When he passes over the little bud, he flicks it, lightly, and then circles around it before moving back down those tender labia.

It doesn’t take long before his pet gives that sweet little cry and tightens her legs around his shoulders. Loki nearly loses it when she does because that embrace is so very intimate.

She slumps on the throne, utterly spent. Heat radiates from her entire body, and the occasional shiver of pleasure runs down her spine. Her arm feels like a leaden weight when she raises her hand to rake wet strands of hair from her face and the back of her neck. Star gazes down at Loki, who is sitting back on his heels and looking _very_ proud of himself, and she has to restrain an amused sound.

“Ve-” she has to clear her throat twice. “Very good, my ice prince.” She tries to shake off her post-orgasm lethargy. “Go and fetch me the vibrator - ‘supplanter’, I believe you called it last time we played - and go stand by the side of the bed. When you are there, bend over and place your hands on the mattress, and then _wait_.”

Loki tries not to pout; he’s well-aware of how good he’s been up to this point. And speaking of points, his cock is seriously aching now. Slowly he rises from the floor, moves to fetch the toy, and then leans over the mattress, feeling a little wary. Flogging is one thing; being penetrated is quite another.

She pushes herself with much effort up off the throne, the flogger dangling from her hand. She walks carefully over to Loki, ignoring the shakiness in her knees as best she can. He stares mistrustfully at the vibrator as she reaches his side, and Star smiles to herself as she removes the toy from his grip and tosses it onto the foot of the bed.

“I’m tempted to bind you, but now is not the time,” she murmurs in a low sultry voice, leaning to speak right into his ear. “Consider it a little test of your self-control.” Star smirks as his eyes narrow; clearly he recognizes the very words he spoke to her that first night, before he punished _her_.

“Close your eyes, ice prince,” comes her order. His body tenses, but he obeys, if a bit slowly. Smirking, she gently runs the ends of the tails of the flogger from the base of his neck, along his spine, and over the firm curve of his rear.

The sensation sends involuntary chills through him, and Loki bites his lower lip to control his pleasure.

She repeats the motion several times, pausing between each pass, making him wait longer each time. His knuckles are white where they clutch the coverlet. She brushes his hair off his forehead, and then remembers that they haven’t kissed since their bath. She grips the hair at the base of his neck and tugs lightly. “Kiss me, my Loki.”

He does, eagerly and thoroughly, and after she pulls away from him, she walks around to stand behind him. His stiffened length is nearly purple by now, and Star almost pities him. 

She strokes her nails lightly along the curve of his rear for a short time, and then finally allows the flogger to touch him with some actual force, but it’s no harder than a gentle slap, the barest flick of her wrist as she lets the leather kiss each cheek.

Loki bites back a grunt; it doesn’t hurt, but between the silene and the taste of his pet in his mouth everything is hypersensitive now, and he fears he might climax if he’s not careful. The sensation is wonderful, though, and he takes a deep breath, letting himself appreciate how perfect it feels.

Star continues flicking the flogger, aiming each soft blow going further and further down each thigh and back up again. A few hits target his rear again, and then along his back, slowly climbing towards his shoulders. When she runs out of the expanse of his back, she again grasps a handful of hair at the nape of his neck and pulls until he turns his head towards her. She lets her tongue dart around his earlobe, and then she whispers, “I’m going to hit you harder now.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat that sounds suspiciously like a moan, and Star smiles as she releases his hair. She resumes raining blows, back the way she has come, from his shoulders down. They remain soft at first but gradual get harder, and she watches his muscles tense and release with each blow, the furs of the bed twisted in the grip of his hands. By the time Star’s back to striking his ass, she’s using about three-quarters of her strength, and she stays there, repeatedly snapping the tails across his ass and thighs, until his pale skin is reddened and his breathing is hard and erratic. 

She stops to trail her fingers over his skin. Not marked, not yet, but she can feel the heat rising off of him. An absolutely wicked idea occurs to her. “Spread your legs like a good slave.”

“My qu-queen,” Loki stammers, his thoughts hazy. The sweet heat of his skin and the sting of the flogger have put him into the dark, lovely zone, a space of sheer sensation, and it’s difficult for him to verbally respond to his pet. Not that she _is_ his pet at the moment, oh no. She has become something much _more_ now. She is very much the queen. 

He doesn’t seem to understand her, so Star smirks and places a hand on his inner thigh, pushing gently until he opens his legs wider for her. She lets a fingertip run down the underside of his rigid prick, and he gasps, shivering.

She grins darkly as she cups a hand around the base of the flogger’s tails, and then presses her hand against his shaft, pulling backward on the handle of the flogger and allowing the soft little strips of leather to caress across the length of him and then along his balls.

Loki gives a greedy whine, the sound escaping before he can stop it as the scent of the leather and the cool feel of it engulf him.

His reaction makes her grin widen. Star hopes the silene oil is increasing his enjoyment. She can certainly feel the extra sensitivity in her own skin; even the few places between her legs where he touched her with the oil still feel tingly and warm . . . she wouldn’t object to another climax, that’s certain. But not just now . . .

Still, she won’t torment him much longer. Star lets the flogger dangle against his leg as she informs him: “Six more blows, ice prince. I will give you back what you gave _me_. But I’m a kind queen; there’s no need for you to count for me. And once those six blows are done, you may come.” Given his apparent difficulty with speech, she adds: “Nod if you understand me.”

He does, and she steps back to give herself room. She lets the flogger fly at full strength, the tails whipping across his rear once, twice . . . Loki makes a strangled noise each time, but she knows him well enough now to recognize them as sounds of pleasure. Another two strikes, and faint, raised welts appear on the toned curves of his rear. That’s enough damage as far as she’s concerned -- she’s a wimp about those things. 

Star strokes her fingers gently over the welts, and he shudders and utters a low moan. She shifts until she can see his face, and his eyes are squeezed tightly shut, long damp locks of hair hanging around his face.

Perfect; he can’t see what she’s about to do.

Loki is expecting another two hits, but instead she drops the flogger on the bed and scoops up the vibrator. A quick dart of her tongue moistens the tip, and then she turns it to a moderate speed, sliding it between the firm rounds of his rear. She doesn’t press it inside him, just against the tender tangle of nerves around that entrance to his body. He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a yelp, and Star wraps her hand around his length and strokes him, quickly and lightly.

“You may come for me now,” she croons to him. Star circles the vibrator slightly and speeds up the motion of her hand. 

He’s lost to sensation, aware of touch, touch, lovely tantalizing, _touch_ and the glorious surge of his seed, the pleasure so intense that his entire body arches as the thick strings of semen erupt from his shaft. Loki rocks against his pet’s hand, slowing but no less blissful for that, and his fingers dig into the furs across the bed. 

It takes a while to regain some sense of where he is. His body is light now; weightless and loose, so he shifts his weight to one hip and tumbles onto the mattress, avoiding the glistening streaks and managing a sweet smile at Star, who is watching him with a slightly guarded expression.

Now his skin is cooling, damp with a pale sheen. He runs a hand over his scalp and shakes his head, hair swinging around his face. Loki chuckles, looking remarkably boyish.

“ _Ma_ rvelous,” he murmurs, a lanky form sprawled on one side of the mattress. “Oh you _do_ have a deft hand with discipline, don’t you, my minx? Then again, I cooperated very well too. Come, lie with me a moment . . .” He motions for her to stretch out with him, still grinning.

Star is still holding the vibrator so she tosses it to the foot of the bed next to the flogger, and allows Loki to draw her down and press her against him.

“Surprised you did I?’ she asks, closing her eyes and letting herself slump into his powerful arms.

“Not as much as you have surprised _yourself_ , I think,” Loki murmurs, kissing her temple. “Perhaps not even for the first time, though I know it’s not your preference. Still, it was a rare pleasure to yield to you, and I am grateful for the tryst. It seems to have driven the ill-humour out of me and for that I owe you _much_ , delight of my thoughts. Would you like a gift?”

She smiles and looks at him from under her lashes. “D’you mean a third orgasm?” Star pauses, furrowing her brow. “Do gods - male ones- have a refractory period?”

This time Loki actually laughs. “A third I will give you as your _due_ , little charmer! I meant something I’ve hoped to present you with for a while now, and after what you’ve just given me, I hope you will be pleased. Refractory?”

The ghostly hands are moving about, bringing warm wet cloths and cleaning up the aftermath of the session. Loki senses what his pet means by the amused expression on her face and catches her hand, laying it on his flat stomach. “Ah, the gloating time when males lie in the glow of their prowess. Yes, after a tryst of such intensity I may need a short while to recover my capacity, although I shall not be long. Now to other matters--I repeat, would you accept my gift?”

She can’t help a snort of derision. “Who said I was going to let you give me an orgasm? Maybe I’m still in charge, maybe I’ll just TAKE it,” she grins, poking him gently in the stomach. Then it hits her -- “You mean, my collar?” It seems odd to her that he would offer it now, just after _she_ has been the one in the dominant position. But it’s obviously his decision.

“Of course I’ll accept it,” she says, trying to conceal her impatience. “I’ve waited for it long enough. Just as long as I don’t have to _move_. I always forget how draining it can be, playing the Dom.”

“If you remember that, then perhaps you’ll have more compassion for me when you are under my hand again,” Loki chides her. “And it is not _your_ collar just yet.” With cat speed Loki pulls his pet closer and rolls, pinning her with his body, hands pulling her arms up. He lets the ghostly hands grip her wrists and hold her down.

“My animals are the wolf and serpent,” he reminds her. “Emblematic of ruthlessness and cunning, both of which serve me well. Now that I have your attention . . .”

Loki rises up, knees on either side of Star’s hips. He snaps his fingers and a heavy necklace of stone appears in his palm, the green gems clacking softly. Loki dangles it above his pet’s face, letting the end of the chain touch her nose. “These bind me to you, and you to me. Stones to spell my name, and stones to signify yours, my luscious little kitten. I thought long and hard about presenting them to you since they are unique. Still, there is no other worthy to wear them.”

He holds the strand out, each end in a hand now, the curve displaying the jade green stones to their best advantage. “With this you are mine here in my realm. Do you accept?”

It’s beautiful, and not at all what she was expecting. “Would I even be here, otherwise? Of course I accept.” 

Loki sighs with pleasure and stretches out, careful not to put too much weight on her as he puts the necklace around her delicate throat. The stones click again, and as he reaches to fasten the catch around the back of her neck, he brings his face down, nose brushing her ear. 

“I love you,” he tells her.   
 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crack!fic; Loki has a thing for ‘snares’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not ours, and we’ll clean him up before we give him back, don’t worry.  
> Authors’ Note: As usual, starhawk wrote the OFC’s POV, and Cincoflex wrote Loki’s. 
> 
>  
> 
> Banner made by **cincoflex**!

Her eyes widen. “Wait... _what_?” That’s....not possible. The freakin’ Norse God of freakin’ Mischief did not just say to her- No, she must have misheard him.

Loki pulls up and shifts himself off of her, waving away the ghostly hands and stretching out on the furs. He makes a contented sound and slips an arm around her bare shoulders. “Sleep, my pet. We have time, and I am sated--for the moment.”

Star tries to, but she can’t. Her body is exhausted, craves sleep, but her brain keeps turning his declaration over and over. 

Finally, agitated, she slips free of his grip and paces restlessly the length of Loki’s hall. She should not bring this up, should not kick the hornet’s nest, especially since he seems so casual about it, but . . . that’s not her way, is it? She glances back at the bed, expecting -- _hoping_ \-- that he’ll still be asleep, and perhaps that will give her a chance to talk herself out of confronting him.

He is, thankfully. Quietly, Star summons the peach-coloured robe and a hot drink (the ghostly hands bring her mulled wine), then settles herself in front of the fireplace, staring long into the flames. 

He surely doesn’t mean anything by what he said. His non-reaction to _her_ non-reaction tells her as much. Perhaps the Asgardian equivalent of ‘love’ is meant to refer to depraved and decadent sex-only relationships like theirs. Perhaps she needs to wait and see what (if anything) happens, instead of trying to actively work out the boundaries of their ‘relationship’ with him.

Perhaps.

\--oo00oo--

Loki wakes quickly, feeling a rare sense of utter relaxation. He takes a moment to assess where he is, and as he does, his smile grows. Carefully he glances to his side, but the warm body that should be there isn’t. He looks up around the room to see Star curled up on the thick rug before the fireplace.

Concerned, he rises, stretches, and moves to her, scooping her up as gently as he can. She opens her eyes to blink at him and Loki bends to brush his cheek with hers. “Just because you are my pet does _not_ mean you must sleep on the floor,” he chides her quietly, carrying her back to the bed.

She looks as if she wants to say something but Loki lays her down and proceeds to unwrap the robe and drape himself over her, letting skin kiss skin. He brushes his lips to her forehead. “What say you to a meal? I find myself with a need for fuel this morning, and I would be a poor master indeed if I did not offer you the same.” 

Star makes a cautious noise of agreement and Loki rolls on his back, raising one long arm and waving it in a lordly manner. “We shall dine. Since I am sure you do not want lutefisk and lefse, what shall we have, little kitten?”

Star sighs inwardly. No, her first instinct must have been the right one - he hadn’t _meant_ anything by what he’d said. Not that he’d said it to be cruel or confusing to her, either; it had merely been something said in the heat of the moment, likely driven by oxytocin or whatever passed for bonding chemicals in Jotunns. Otherwise she’s certain he would have confronted her about her lack of response by now.

“I’d like to think that I’m adventurous enough to try anything once,” she replies, smirking at the underlying sexual innuendo. “But I’d at least like to know what those are before agreeing. _No habla Asgardian,_ ” she points out.

“Meals of northern Midgardians,” Loki tells her. “Although I have become fond of cuisine from other places. Thor has often mentioned the waf-fle as a worthy treat, and of course there is . . . _chocolate_.”  He tries not to purr the sound, but it’s difficult. “Such an achievement. I would name _you_ Chocolate if I could, little toy!”

She snorts. “You start calling me ‘my little truffle’, I am officially outta here.” She pauses to consider. “Waffles could work.” She glances automatically at her wrist, but her watch is long gone. “What _time_ is it anyway? The last meal I had at home was breakfast. Two breakfasts in a row is . . . weird. And now that I think about it, I need some protein with said waffle, or I’ll be courting a migraine.”

“Fish, fowl or beast, the choice is yours,” Loki nods. “I too find myself in need of more than grain.”

By the time they rise and wander over to the heavy table near the fireplace, the food is there, fragrant and warm. Loki notes his pet’s look of surprise and waves expansively. “The Nisse, or little elves have done it. For some reason I have a small tribe that choose to live with me here, and they care for the place very well. Since they are legendary in Midgard they know of that world and consequently its food.”

Seeing the startled look on her face, Loki hastens to add, “They have no interest in us or our encounters, my minx--all they prefer is to keep house and hearth, usually when we are gone or asleep. Have no fear; they are not watching.”

“If they aren’t watching, how do they _know_ we are gone or asleep?” she points out, shaking her head. Then, examining at the generous spread, she decides to let it go. “Never mind me, I’m just jealous. Disembodied hands to do your laundry, elves to do your cooking . . .why couldn’t I have been born a Norse God?” she sighs. She begins to load up her plate. “Whoa,  real maple syrup? Sweet! The next time you see them, tell Elrond and Legolas they have good taste,” she quips to Loki.

Loki looks both puzzled and amused, but he sits and allows the ghostly hands to fill a plate and bring it to him. “I shall tell the gnomes, though I do not think any of them have those names. They are gruff little old men for the most part, barely a foot high if you do not count their red caps. Come, eat and tell me how much you appreciate your collar. It looks very good on you.”

And it does. Loki admires the string of stones around Star’s throat; the way they gleam in the light. “It does please you, does it not?”

She strokes her fingers across it as she moves to sit next to him. “It’s beautiful, thank you.” She stretches to kiss him. “I don’t think I’ve ever received a piece of jewelry quite like it before. And it matches my eyes, always a bonus.” She grins.

“That it does,” Loki agrees. “And I give it to you with my love. I know,” he hesitates for a second and continues, “I _know_ you are bound to another, and I struggle to make my peace with that, but here and now, in this dimension and time, _we_ are together.”

He feels himself blush, which is embarrassing. To counter it, Loki looks down at his food and concentrates on cutting it up.

The colour rising in his pale cheeks surprises her, even as her heart flutters at his use of _that_ word again. _Maybe he_ does _mean it. Shit, what do I do?_ She puts a hand on his arm, stilling him. “I appreciate that you care for me. I wouldn’t want to ‘play’ with you if you didn’t,” she says carefully. It’s much like walking through a minefield; she does not want to say anything that hurts him. Or worse, angers him. “But please, Loki, try to understand -- you can’t possibly  love me,” she says as gently as she can, squeezing his arm.

He looks up, surprised. “I _cannot?_ Why?”

“Because you hardly know me. How _could_ you? We’ve only been together what- three times? And you’ve really only seen me in this context. I have, as you know all too well, a whole other life. You know next to nothing about who or how I am . . . back on Midgard.” Star almost says ‘back _home_ ’, but stops herself just in time. He might take that as her being dismissive of . . . whatever this is.

“I did not realize that such . . . background mattered,” Loki tells her slowly. “When we are here, we are _here_. I am learning about you and you are learning about me. Beyond what we share, we lead our _own_ lives, pet. I do not lay claim to you on Midgard, and you do not lay claim to me in any of the Nine Realms. If it pains you to hear me say it, I will refrain from doing so, but it remains the truth.”

Star sits back, rubbing at her forehead with a sigh. “It doesn’t _pain_ me. It’s just . . . complicated, OK? I was raised to think there was only one God, and my only relationship with that God was a couple times a year, I had to sit in a congregation and be bored out of my mind, listening to things which were not personally relevant. And if I ever tried to pray, if I was ever in that much pain that I really needed to feel that some higher being could or would help me, well . . . nobody ever seemed to be listening.” She closes her eyes, trying to remember everything she was thinking last night, alone in front of the fire.

“But everything I was taught is wrong. _You’re_ real, and you’re here....and _you_ hear me. But I’m split down the middle. Am I betraying my husband and family by being with you? I don’t know. You’re a god, not a human. Maybe the same rules don’t apply.” Her fingers brush across the necklace, tracing around the edges of each stone.

“But even if this is some kind of betrayal,” she continues, her voice just above a whisper. “I . . . don’t want to give up either of my ‘lives’. I love my family, but I also don’t want to end . . . whatever this is.” She shakes her head and opens her eyes, but she stares into her plate, too anxious to look over at Loki. “I’m probably not making any sense at all.”

Loki gives her a thoughtful look. “Perhaps not, but I am not forcing you to make a choice, my pet. Whatever conflict you feel is your own, and while I do not wish to distress you, I cannot choose _for_ you either. Here you are mine; everywhere else you are your own. More sausage?”

Star sighs and shakes her head. “Look, I guess I just don’t know if I feel free to love you back, OK? Even if we ignore the fact of my other life, is it ‘safe’ for me to love you? You’re capricious - legendarily so - and today you may love me, but tomorrow you may be _bored_. And I don’t know how many other pets you are . . .uh, keeping, besides me.” She bites her lip.

“I am not _safe_ to love,” Loki acknowledges slowly, “but that is true of gods and humans throughout the pantheons. I won’t deny the risk, little one, and I assumed you knew it before we started. If you are regretting your choice tell me now and I will make sure you return to Midgard as you left it. I can even take the memories of our time together out of your thoughts, if that is your wish. As for other pets . . .” he shakes his head, a wry smirk crossing his solemn features, “While you compliment my lust, I fear you are mistaken as to my capacity. One-- _you_ \--are more than sufficient for my dark desires, little kitten.”

She feels an answering smirk on her own lips. “Damn straight I am,” she agrees. Star leans against his side. “Yes, it’s a risk to love anyone. And I don’t regret what we’re doing - even though I probably _should_. But . . . in my experience, when someone tells you they love you, they usually expect you to feel the same. And I guess I didn’t expect it to hear it from you so . . . _early_.” She grimaces. “I was raised not to have sex before marriage, and while I was dating, if a guy told me he loved me this early on in a relationship, it was usually just a ploy to try to get into my pants. Though that obviously does not apply to this situation! Technically I wasn’t even _wearing_ pants the first time,” she observes with a chuckle. 

“And I was raised to deal with others honestly, although that is a folly I overcame at an early age myself,” Loki murmurs through a mouthful of waffle. “However, I have found that in matters intimate, it is safer to be bold than not, and making one’s intentions clear is fairest to all concerned. If you wish to proclaim your feelings for me I will not object, but I do not _require_ it. Your every glance and action say it to me whether you realize it or not, Star of mine.”

“You realize how ironic that sounds, coming from the Norse god of lies, right?” she shakes her head. “But I don’t disagree, at least in principle. If you don’t mind giving me more time to . . . sort out my feelings, then that’s acceptable to me. And now that we understand each other better, please feel free to say whatever you’re feeling; you don’t need to hold back.” Star stretches up to kiss him gently on the lips. “Pass me that sausage after all? I imagine I’ll get to have your ‘personal sausage’ at some date in the near future, won’t I?” She grins lasciviously. 

Loki arches an eyebrow even as he smiles indulgently. “Both spirit and flesh are already eager for that. In fact--” He grips her wrist and pulls her up onto the table, upsetting a few of the dishes even as her pert ass plonks into his plate. “I find myself hungry for something more than _these_ offerings~”

She bursts into giggles. “Am I to be the dessert course, my Lord?”

Loki doesn’t give a spoken answer, and instead peels off the robe, flinging it over his shoulder as he bends to press his mouth to the soft join of her neck and shoulder. His hands busy themselves in sliding around her waist, holding her in place as he lets his teeth ever so lightly nip her skin.

She jumps a little and gasps. “You don’t have to actually _eat_ me, you know,” she says jokingly, and cards the fingers of one hand through his hair. Her other arm wraps around him, pressing fingertips into skin and muscle. He doesn’t look it, willowy and lanky as he is, but when touched he is decidedly _solid_.

The warmth of his pet’s skin is intoxicating, and Loki spends time tasking the delicate curve along the side of her throat. Revived and refreshed, he feels a sense of desire mingled with impish good humor. “I thought you liked it when I devour you . . . intimately. I seem to recall a good deal of moaning and joyous cries. Surely that wasn’t all for _show_ now, was it?” he teases, letting his hands slide up under the sensitive area below her breasts. Loki’s fingertips float over her skin, tickling the gooseflesh there.

“For the record, you’re the one who’s seated me on a _plate_ ,” she points out, giggling and wriggling. “But no, you’re quite correct-  I. LOVE. IT.” Star allows both her hands to slide down and cup his rear, digging the nails into his skin, and then she wraps her legs tightly around his thighs, silently urging him on.

Loki gives a little growl, feeling his shaft nudge its way along the fur of her cleft, thick and getting stiffer. He slides a hand up to cradle the back of her head, very gently directing her attention downward, to where their bodies are touching. He slides the other hand down, letting his fingers trail down her stomach until they brush those little curls stroking his prick.

“A good dessert is all about presentation,” he whispers, and gripping himself, angles his shaft until the damp head rubs in the lightest of touches against her nub. Star shivers and Loki fights a little groan of his own. The sight of their bodies, naked and aroused is beautifully alluring, and this teasing kiss is only the beginning.

Her legs tense around him as he teases her. “Presentation?” she asks with a gasp. She wriggles closer, trying to increase the friction, and scratches her nails across his skin. Not hard enough to leave marks, if that is even possible, but enough that he’ll _feel_ it. “Well, research has shown,” she proclaims in her best professorial tone, “that the colour and size of plates can affect one’s perception of . . . _flavour_.”

With a shift of his hips Loki angles his thick cock upward so that its underside is sliding against her and stroking her little bud like a bow against taut strings of an instrument. “I think you’ll find my _size_ whets your appetite nicely,” he manages, his hand curling around her hip to pull her even closer. Their bodies sandwich his erection and the wet slide of it, hot and throbbing is enough to make him draw in a shuddery breath of appreciation. She squirms, her firm nipples brushing his chest as she does so.

She tries to shift, to reach down between them but Loki holds her tightly, and the quickening slick of her arousal makes his cock glide along her wet lips, each brush on her clit bringing shivers. For a while he holds her to that, and then pulls back, reaches down and guides the head, letting it push fractionally into her.

“We must _watch_ ourselves,” he instructs, voice deeper, thick with desire. With infinite slowness, Loki slides himself further in, the stroke deliberate. As he does so, he shifts his hand to let the ball of his thumb circle around her nub.

His pet gives a low cry, thighs tightening around him, fingers scrabbling along his back. This is good, and Loki takes a breath, striving for the power he needs to keep control. The slow rhythm begins, deep thrust into her, little circles of his thumb, slow withdrawal, little circles of his thumb. And through it all, he watches, fascinated at how her body takes his, how perfectly he fits into the glistening wet cleft. It’s raw and beautiful, primitive and rich in sensuality, this vision of his beauty being deliberately mounted, her pleasure so slick and obvious that it thrills him.

Still, his own pleasure rises within him, and Loki knows this because the strokes become deeper. He shifts, slipping his arms under the backs of her knees, bringing the angle to a sharper incline and the glitter of her beautiful pussy makes him groan. He leans over her, thrusts harder now, the cutlery and china rattling on the table. With care, Loki manages to catch that delicate bud between finger and thumb, and lightly, very, very gently, rubs it between them, the pads slippery with her lust. 

His pet spasms, her hips rocking up hard now, eyes closed and head thrown back, and the slick wet pulses of her climax milk him hard. Loki arches into her, pleasure surging forth in hot gushes leaving him clawing at the tablecloth, his long hair falling down around his face. He opens his eyes when Star reaches up, pulling his face to hers, kissing him deeply.

“Oh. My. God. Of. Mischief,” Star purrs, a deep kiss interspersed between each word. She clings tightly to his body, stroking every inch of his skin that she can reach. She’s almost too satisfied to move, though if she knows _him_ , they aren’t done. Not even close. “That was certainly a . . . tasty dessert. And it won’t even go to my hips!” she quips.

“Only between them,” Loki replies, shaking his hair out of his eyes and smirking.   
A short while later, freshly bathed and dressed, Loki leads her to the chest that held the flogger. He drops to one knee and opens it, revealing a neatly organized collection of items. On the very top is the bag from Très Méchante, and Loki plucks it up, trying to look lofty and almost succeeding.

“Uh-oh, you’re up to no good,” Star observes. She remembers all of the items they’d purchased at that shop, her muscles clenching at the memory. Never mind what he’d done to her afterwards. “I’m happy to use your flogger on _you_ again,” she suggests, hoping to curtail any too-evil plans of his. “Or, I’m partial to flogging myself, though I don’t know if something made by gods might shred _me_ into cat food.”

“Gods do not . . . _play_ quite as we do, pet,” Loki tells her blithely. “For all of their feasting and fighting, I have found that most of Asgard have little sensual imagination behind closed doors. I made the mistake of mentioning a certain proclivity to my brother once, and managed to shock him for a few days. He sincerely had no idea that restraints could be erotic and that makes me pity his future partners.”

“Thor is that vanilla? Not really surprised, I guess. Mind you, I don’t think it’s much different back on Earth in terms of ‘sensual imagination’. I made the mistake of telling a few friends I wrote erotica as a hobby . . . it didn’t go over well.” Star snorts. “But turn on the TV or go to a movie, and it’s all violence. Guns are OK, killing people is OK . . . while _making love_ is x-rated and censored? Whole planet’s priorities are backwards, if you ask me. Though I’m biased, I’ll admit.” She shifts closer to Loki and reaches to stroke the back of his neck.

“Not biased as much as preferential,” he agrees. “Although the form we have makes mating and all its options much more pleasurable than that of the lesser animals. We have the capacity for lust _and_ imagination, so infinite variety is open to us. You and I are mindful of that, and choose to explore . . . play . . . with our appetites, unlike my brother and his warriors who sate themselves quickly and with no creativity.” Waving a hand Loki dismisses the thought and rises, the bag in his hands.

She turns and watches him, slightly wary. She trusts him more strongly than before, but she also remembers what’s in that bag. Trying to lessen some of the maddening suspense, she hangs back and asks: “And what are we to _play_ with now, my Prince?”

Perhaps he only intends to dress her in one of the lacy new outfits he purchased for her? The thought of being on display, the subject of his admiring gaze, makes her shiver with delight, and she strokes her fingers almost absently across the jade stones around her throat.

He cocks his head and slowly walks around her, letting his glance take in his entire pet   
as he assesses her anew, and when Loki comes back to face her, he crosses his hands behind his back.

“It’s my turn to choose a toy, little pet, and your turn to choose your wardrobe. I know what I want to play with, so you need to find your outfit. Once you have it on, come kneel before me at my seat.” It’s an easy order, quietly given in his deepest, gentlest tone.

Loki strides to his throne and settles himself into it, waiting.

Star swallows hard and rifles through the bag. There’s the full-body lace suit, hmmm. No, she decides on the metallic green merry widow corset and matching panties; they’ll go best with her new collar. She turns her back on Loki, slips out of her robe and pulls the items on, her skin prickling as his lustful stare burns into her back. 

She wonders if Loki would appreciate stockings, garters, and high-heeled shoes as well. Possibly she should look into getting some once she gets back topside, so to speak.

After a couple deep breaths, Star turns and walks towards Loki, then goes carefully onto her knees in front of him, eyes lowered in her best imitation of ‘proper, demure little pet’.

Loki bends down and gently lifts her chin, making her look up into his face. Holding her gaze he asks her in a low tone, “I am going to tie you up. _Thoroughly_. Can you submit to that my little toy? Not just wrists and ankles to the bedposts, not this time. I do mean completely tied up at my utter _mercy_ until we are through. Think carefully before you answer and if you are trusting and brave it will be the most intense experience of your life.”

Star does think, but not for long. She makes her mind up rather quickly, in fact, though she waits an extra moment or three, just for show. This is exactly what she wants and needs. “Yes, my Dark Lord. _Please_.” She struggles not to squirm in anticipation. What will he do to her once she’s helpless? She can hardly wait to see...

“Oh I _like_ that,” Loki sighs, his fingers caressing her chin. “You are such a good, good pet. Come, let us begin, you beautiful kitten . . .”

Star has too well-developed an erotic imagination, and her thoughts are awhirl, wondering what he’ll do. A rope dress, wrapped all around her? Or something similar to before, wrists and ankles bound, but now he’ll also bind her knees wide apart? Other parts of her as well? Perhaps ropes run carefully between her legs, to tease her? She can already feel arousal tingling and _pulling_ at her. 

And . . . which toy will he use, when she is entirely his? She can’t help a soft moan as she considers the sensual possibilities.

Loki holds out his hands and between them, in the glittering light concentrated by his palms comes a coil of silver satin rope. It gleams in the light, and when it is fully formed, Loki shifts one hand under to catch it as it drops into his grip. He brings it in close, stroking it with his long and elegant fingers. “Asgardians are warriors, and hunters. The art of the snare is something they _do_ excel in, but sadly, they do not see the possibilities it may hold. Or _who_ it may hold in this case. This particular line is called . . . well, you could not pronounce it, but for our purposes it is ice cord. It can hold many degrees of chill, or stay just at one’s temperature. All of that is subject to my whim.”

_ Oh. My. God. _ Yes, definitely too much erotic imagination. She shifts from foot to foot and bites her lip as she ponders the possibilities. “That sounds very . . . intriguing, my Lord.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” he replies lightly. “Come--touch it, see that it isn’t frightening in and of itself.” Loki holds out the cord, waiting for his pet to some closer and run a finger on its smooth surface. When she does, he speaks again. “It is woven of iced silk. Against the frost it is nearly invisible, and against the skin a cool reminder to stay still.”

She shivers hotly. “Yes, my Prince,” she agrees. She wonders impatiently how much longer he is going to sit and expound on the rope’s virtues. “Perhaps you would care to demonstrate?” she suggests archly.

His smile grows cool. “Of course.”

Loki forms a loop on one end, fingers dancing as he forms an intricate knot. He slips the other end through the loop, and then beckons Star to hold out her left arm. When she does, the cord loops at her wrist, tightening.

“And now,” Loki murmurs, “we weave the snare.”

It takes nearly half an hour, and the length of cord wraps from her left arm to her right behind her back. The cord crosses in diamonds down her stomach and between her legs, then loops around each knee and knots firmly behind her, holding them open. The ghostly hands are supporting Star now, keeping her suspended in the air as Loki deftly loops the last ends of the cord around her feet, the soles pressed together. He knots the end and steps back to admire his work, pleased and aroused by the sight before him.

His pet, spread and pinned like an emerald butterfly. Her wrists are tied behind her back, loosely enough to be comfortable, but firmly enough to prevent escape. The taut line behind her knees keeps her thighs open and wide for him, and the press of sole to sole completes the design. Loki motions to the hands and they obediently carry her form to the bed, laying her gently there and vanishing.

“ _There_ is a vision,” Loki tells her admiringly. “So perfectly pinned, little butterfly. Caught in my web with only one way out, and that . . .” he leans over her, hands on her knees, “is to _please_ me.”

Star does her best to relax into the bindings. Staying still for him for so long had already been a challenge, but she had managed, breathing deeply and mentally calming any muscles that spasmed in protest. “Tell me how I may do so, my Lord, and I will do it. If I am able,” she adds, glancing down at herself. She’s so wet already; she can feel it soaking into the pretty lingerie.

Loki nods. “So far you are doing well. Not every butterfly accepts the net. First, we shall see how sensitive you are.” He drops one hip on the edge of the bed and skims a hand along her knee, fingers touching the skin. “Can you feel this?”

“Yes, of course, Lord.” she purrs.

He touches the closest edge of the cord and instantly chill flares through the entire snare all over his pet’s body. Just a few second’s worth, but unexpectedly icy.

She gasps, trying to squirm though she can’t. It’s definitely . . . intriguing in a borderline-uncomfortable way. She can even feel the chill in the rope pressing against her nub through the panties, and her gasp turns into a deep groan.

Loki tut-tuts. “Oh no, it won’t be _that_ easy for you,” he chides and hooks a finger along the cord going down between her legs. He tugs it over into the crease of her thigh, carelessly letting his fingers brush against her wet panties in the process. “Such a hungry little mouth this is. I feed it and it always wants more, doesn’t it?”

She moans softly and bites her lip against a protest. “I want you,” she says imploringly. “I want _all_ of you that I can have. If that displeases you-” Star shakes her head, not knowing how to complete that thought aloud. “Yes, I hunger for you.” She licks her lips and gazes right into his darkened eyes. 

“Oh I am not displeased,” Loki murmurs, “but we have a toy to test, and I cannot have you sated before we put it through the paces now, can I? Beautiful as your secret garden is, it would be a _shame_ not to see how much more intensely you shall peak.”

“As my lord wills,” she answers, trying not to whimper. She’d almost forgotten that, the promise of playing with toys. He’s going to drive her utterly insane before he’s through. It excites and frightens her, and she draws in a deep, trembling breath and exhales slowly.

Loki can see from her wide pupils how aroused Star is; how ready to be led along. He lifts a hand and the bag from Très Méchante appears in it. With a hum, Loki reaches inside and pulls out his selection, staring at it admiringly.

Sleek silver handle of six inches and at the top a pointed wheel glittering like a dangerous snowflake. Loki brings it closer to his face to study it. He blows, making it spin like the pinwheel it is, then waves it like a wand. “This is so perfect. So light, so delicate . . . so irresistible.”

She bites her lip again. The pinwheel. She’d been a little uneasy when he selected it back at the store. She knows what it is, how it is used, but she has never had anyone use one on her before. And she’s totally helpless; there will be no way to quickly evade if she can’t take it.

_ Trusting and brave, trusting and brave,  _ she chants to herself. Then she steels herself and looks up at her beautiful captor. 

She doesn’t know what he’ll do with that, and there’s no point frightening herself wondering how sharply those needles will prick, or where he’ll choose to apply it. 

“I would not know, my Prince. My experience with such a toy is . . . nonexistent.”

“A virgin,” Loki teases, but his glance is kind. “Very brave of you to admit. That deserves a reward.” He bends over her form and kisses her, then lets his tongue trail down her chin and along the underside of her face, then laughs as she gives a sigh.

Star turns her head to keep contact with him, cheek to cheek, goose bumps rising on her skin. She wants to relax totally, to give in, though she finds her eyes searching nervously for the pinwheel. Her binding has left too many very sensitive areas completely exposed to torture. Oh, she’s still clothed, but she doubts the thin panties will be any protection. Even her breasts, protected behind a bit more fabric, will be easily urged out from the bra cups, should Loki so choose. Her wrists and ankles tug experimentally against the ropes, but they do not yield even slightly. Caught in a web, with a merciless, hungry spider . . .

Loki runs the wheel over his palm. "The points are blunted, pet. Nothing will pierce you except me." He spins the wand in one hand, amused at his own joke and flicks the wheel so it spins again. With care Loki drags it along her shin between the crossed cords.

Star tenses, but it isn’t bad at all. She furrows her brow as she tries to label the feeling. It’s not prickly, tickly, or tingly . . . more like all three at once. She relaxes, but just a little. That was, after all, just her shin. Not precisely an erogenous or very sensitive zone, comparatively speaking. “That wasn’t too bad,” she agrees cautiously. “But by ‘piercing’, I hope you mean with your one-eyed trouser serpent,” she dares to quip, shooting a glance in the direction of said body-part.

Loki purses his lips in an effort not to smile, and lifts the wheel up, flicking it with a thumb. “Serpents _are_ one of my specialties,” he murmurs, and brings the wheel to race lightly over her insole. Seeing his pet shudder gives him a moment of pleasure, and he tosses the instrument from one hand to the other with the flair of elegant showmanship. “Where next, where next?” he muses aloud. “You are greedy for sensation, and yet on the other hand, you’re rather . . . tied up, aren’t you? Unable to do anything except _endure_ my little . . .” Loki touches the tip of the wheel so it slips between her big toe and the others in a quick move, “. . . caresses.”

Her feet are _very_ ticklish, and Star flinches at his first touch, all her muscles tightening, the bottoms of her feet and toes pressing tightly together. When he runs the wheel between her toes, a kind of laughing gasp escapes her lips. “Yes, my Prince,” she agrees softly. It’s safer than back-talking him when she’s in this compromised position! Breathing deep, she makes an effort to relax again; there’s no knowing how long he’ll keep her pinned like this.

Loki notes her reaction and his dimples deepen. “Sooo agreeable! Let us play, minx.”

He moves onto the bed, kneeling near one thigh, gazing over her tied body like a chef contemplating where to start. Carefully, Loki leans down, running the wheel over her hipbone and along that ticklish stretch between it and the bottom edge of her ribs where the corset begins. The wheel seems to pass through the satin cord, and Loki follows the prickly sensation with his warm breath, watching Star’s skin react. A rush of arousal floods him and he bites back a possessive growl, stroking the wheel ever so lightly on the top halves of her breasts, enjoying the way her collarbones stand out when she draws in her breath.

“Ticklish, or tingly?” he demands, bending down to let his lips graze hers.

She tilts her chin up, pressing her lips more firmly against his for a moment. “Uh, both, I guess? It’s difficult to describe the sensation.” She smirks. “I could try it on _you_ later, and you could decide for yourself.” Star squirms, the tingle from the pinwheel’s last touch spreading downwards and peaking her nipples, and an answering tingle echoing between her thighs.

“Oh I know the sensation,” Loki tells her. “This is the tender version since true pain would be distracting and cruel, particularly when bound.” Casually he lifts his chin and his armor shimmers away, leaving him lean and bare except for what appears to be an embroidered loincloth low on his slim hips. Loki preens, giving into a moment of vanity as he watches his pet gaze at him, her pupils dark. “I thought to make myself comfortable.”

“Oooh, dinner and a show, lucky me,” Star breathes, her voice husky. She licks her lips slowly and eyes him up and down, then leers. “What was that you said about knowing how to pole-dance? I’m sure with a body like that the ladies were all flinging their money - and panties - within about two seconds flat.” How she would love to touch him right now, but he’s taken that option away from her. His loss.

Loki gives a nod, and his grin goes from sweet to filthy as he does. “I’ve noticed that anytime I tell my subjects to kneel, the females are _always_ the quickest to do so.” With care he touches the wheel against the soft skin just under the bottom edge of the corset, between her navel and bikini line, rolling it in aimless patterns and moving ever closer to her panties. It’s the work of a moment to undo the ties at one hip, and Loki uses the flat edge of the wheel to flick the cloth away and reveal the soft fluff underneath.

“And now let us see if you can stand a few tickles _here_ ,” he murmurs, and hums as he rolls the wheel from hipbone to hipbone, barely grazing her skin. Loki notes that his pet is wriggling now, and she’s biting her lips. The way her feet are tied mean that not only is her lovely fur exposed, but so are the pink petals of her sex in a brazen display. “You _do_ seem to feel that,” he chuckles, brushing his hair back.

Star tries to stay still but she can’t, she’s too sensitive. She gasps, sucking in her abdominal muscles as he continues to tease her, twisting and bucking hard against the ropes before she remembers-- they turn suddenly _cold_ , colder than before, and she cries out and goes still again. The chill fades immediately and she pants in relief. “Jesus H. Christ,” she hisses, shivering.

“You did have to find out the hard way,” Loki nods, amused. “It’s a challenge yes. And to make it still _more_ difficult--” he snaps his fingers and an etched goblet of ruby red wine appears in one hand. With a flourish, Loki sets it on her stomach. “There. It would be a terrible shame to spill this on your lovely corset now, wouldn’t it?”

He watches her gaze grow narrow, sees her struggle not to snap at him, and Loki waggles his tongue at her before delicately running the wheel through the curls on her mound.

She clenches her teeth so hard she thinks they might crack into thousands of shards, whimpering but somehow managing to stay still – or still enough not to topple the wine, rather. When he pulls the wheel away she groans “Fuck _me_ ,” and it’s a complaint, not an invitation. She knows this game, oh yes: Stack the deck against the sub so that it’s practically a given that she’ll fail and thus ‘deserve’ to be punished. 

Star squeezes her stomach muscles tight, steeling herself. She’s not at all eager to find out what punishment Loki might have in store for her this time, so she’ll try as hard as she can to stay still and not react, for as long as she can. Which she suspects won’t be for long at all, damn him to hell.

_ I need a distraction, _ she thinks frantically. Something else to focus her attention on. Aha, she’s got it! “Parts of the human brain,” she begins, speaking calmly, fixing her gaze on Loki so he can’t take her by surprise, hopefully. “Medial forebrain bundle...Globus pallidus...Substantia nigra...Nucleus accumbens...Ventral tegmental area....Superior temporal gyrus...Prefrontal cortex...” 

He laughs; of _course_ his pet would have some counter to his move, and the fact that she’s doing so delights him. _Worthy, yes, she is_ , Loki thinks fondly, and shifts so he’s looking up the length of her bound form, his knees almost against her shins. The view is utterly beautiful to his way of thinking, seeing his Star spread and bound like this. He stretches up and flips the wand in a dance around the fingers of his hand, then races it up the inside of one thigh, lightly skittering it over her cleft and down the inside of the other thigh. 

Oh those shudders! The wine glass vibrates and Loki hears his pet stammer through her recitation as her knees flex, trying to close against the rope holding them.

The bindings turn to woven icicles again and Star gasps, but she knows what to do and forces her legs to go lax, the rope immediately losing its icy bite. _I’ve got your number, asshole,_ she thinks viciously at the rope. By some miracle the wineglass is still vertical, so that must mean she’s doing something right. So, keeping her gaze on Loki’s elegant yet sneaky hands and the instrument of his _challenge_ , she resumes naming off brain areas. “Lateral hypothalamus...Cerebellum...Ventromedial hypothalamus...Wernicke’s area... Broca’s area...Occipital lobe…”

Loki hums, turning the wheel so it slides the blunt points across the tender flesh just inside one knee. He notes the glass is still standing, but its contents are vibrating a bit. And the scent of his pet is stronger now--the musk of tension and arousal an enticing perfume to his nose. He lowers himself and casually licks her thigh, leaving a wet stripe all the way to the crease of her leg and hip.

Not expecting that tactic, she shudders hard, and the wine glass tilts alarmingly but somehow stays up -- barely. _Crap, that was_ close. _Breathe, breathe. Slowly_. _And don’t glare at him, tempting as that is._ She scrabbles to get the brain areas back into _her_ brain, but he’s thrown her off.

Her taste is addictive, and Loki considers setting the wheel aside all the better to feast on his pet. Bound as she is, the thrill of having her captive and under his lips makes him painfully hard. He flicks a thumb over the wheel, making it spin once more, and eyes the wine, considering. “You are too delicious,” he accuses her softly. “I can’t tell if I should give you the wine or drink it myself, in a toast to your . . . good behavior. Perhaps a sip from my lips to yours.”

He arches over the glass and sucks up a mouthful without moving it; a wicked little image to be sure. Loki lightly rolls over and pads his way around the bed, then leans once again, bringing his face close to his pet’s and kisses her.

She kisses him back fiercely, allowing the liquid to slide over her tongue and down her throat. Does this mean she’s won? _Yeah, don’t count on that,_ she chides herself. He’s the God of Mischief, after all. He’ll likely drain the cup dry and refill it again and start. all. over. “Thank you, my Lord,” she says carefully, keeping her voice soft. Her stomach muscles are starting to ache under the strain of holding still; she has no choice but to relax them slightly, much as she would prefer otherwise.

“A good girl deserves a reward,” Loki murmurs and kisses her again, tongue teasing hers in a little tango flavored with burgundy. He does love kissing his pet; she has enough spirit to put herself into it. He breaks away reluctantly and kisses her nose, then looks down the length of her body, sighing with pleasure. “Perhaps kisses _elsewhere_ , alongside the wheel’s path,” Loki murmurs, and moves to do so.

_ It’s wonderful to be evil _ , he thinks as he stretches out between Star’s open knees. The ice cord is no impediment to the rolling wheel, and Loki proceeds to run it in a merry course up and down each thigh, moving through the soft thicket of her mound and advancing closer to the wet rose of her cleft. Only the lightest touches will do against her labial lips, and the reward is her muttered curses and shivers. The half-full wine glass shimmies a little but doesn’t tip, so Loki bends to rub his nose against the sweet little almond peeping from between the rosy sides of his pet’s sex. “It would be terrible and unfair for me to mount you while you are bound,” he growls. “And yet the temptation is so strong, sweet one. You ARE so slick and ready for me.”

She isn’t listening to him at all, she’s too busy watching the wineglass tip over in what seems to her to be agonizingly slow motion. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters. That last damned touch against her nub had done it – she’d expected it, and yet she had _still_ been unable to stop bucking upwards. She barely even registers the retaliatory chill of the ropes, too occupied watching the red liquid soak into the bottom edge of her corset and the grey fur underneath her. Well she’s in for it now, though part of her is strangely relieved. Now she just has to worry about the ice rope, and whatever ‘punishment’ Loki deems necessary. Only.

Loki looks up, noticing the roll of the glass off of his pet and to the mattress, the wine splashing on her stomach and seeping into everything else, the red liquid looking rather black in the light. Sighing, he waves and the ghostly hands move in, touching the edges of the stains. The burgundy shifts upward into the hands, staining them red as the wine siphons up and off of the furs. One hand runs a forefinger along Star’s stomach, and the wine glides up into it from her bare skin. “Oh dear, very clumsy,” Loki murmurs, putting on his best poker face. 

She’s so responsive, Loki knows. Even a _hint_ of breath between her legs and his pet can barely keep from wriggling. Rising up, he picks up the glass and holds it out; the hands come and touch the rim, filling the spilled wine back into the bowl of the glass. Loki sips it thoughtfully. “You _did_ try; I will acknowledge the effort, my kitten. Still, the fact is that you moved, and for that, well . . .” he tosses the glass up, letting one ghostly hand catch and carry it away, “Tighter, I think.”

Instantly the ice cord contracts, and any slack is gone.

Her first instinct is to panic. She winces and draws in a sharp sobbing breath between her teeth, her head rolling on the pillows in negation, every muscle taut with strain. _This is what you do to people you_ ‘love’ _?_ she wants to scream at him. She’s on the edge of hyperventilating.

_ No, don’t. _ _Close your eyes, and_ breathe. _Relax. Breathe._ At least the wineglass is gone, she doesn’t have that challenge weighing on her anymore _. Breathe. It’s OK. It’s going to be OK. You’re OK. You can do this. ‘Trusting and brave’..._

She waits a few heartbeats, until her breathing is under control, before speaking. “Forgive me, my prince, that I was not able to please you.” Though Star doesn’t open her eyes and she doubts her words will move him at all.

Loki hears the quaver in her voice and reaches for the ice cord, hooking a finger under it right at the point it crosses over one prominent hipbone. At his touch it loosens very slightly, and sends a surge of warmth through every coil and length. “Oh but you _have_ , sweet minion, you have. Your submission has been the greatest gift to me, and I confess that having you _caged_ like this . . .” he licks his lips, dark eyes glittering. Suddenly Loki surges, dropping himself over her, his body lightly resting on hers, the throb of his shaft pushing hard on the thin fabric of the loincloth between them. It pulses.

“What do you _want_ , my pet?” Loki demands. “What do you _need_?”

It’s a better reaction than she expects and she dares to open her eyes, letting out a slow breath. But does she dare answer his question truthfully? Star looks up at him from under her eyelashes and pushes her hips up to meet him ever so slightly.

“Well, my Lord,” she begins, though her voice cracks and her cheeks burn. “As you may recall, you asked me some time ago, before we first met in person, to relate to you a secret fantasy of mine. I told you that I craved being held immobile while being relentlessly _teased_ in my most tender areas. Though I recall you suggested using Rán’s net for that purpose, tangled in your snare as I am, I believe this may serve just as well. If it pleases you,” she adds warily.

He doesn’t reply as he rocks his own hips down against hers for a moment, savoring the press of muscle to muscle. The wheel is a tricky thing so close to sensitive skin and Loki isn’t sure he’s in a clear enough mind at the moment to be as careful as he should be with it against her body there. There are _other_ ways to tease, though, and those will suffice without causing pain. In one quick push-up, he lifts his body from hers and smiles, dangerously.

“Relentlessly? That is a dangerous word around me, pet. Still, it is your fantasy.”

Star chuffs a quiet laugh. “Perhaps that is exactly _why_ I am asking it of you -- I know you have the will to give me what I need.” She moistens her dry lips and works to relax her shoulders against the rope. Which reminds her: “I beg you, my Lord Loki, do not use the ice-cord against me. The whole point of the fantasy is to be _able_ to struggle against the ropes if I must . . . not that I can move much at the moment!”

He bites his lower lip and nods. “Perhaps I have been . . . over-zealous in using it,” Loki acknowledges. “Not everyone finds their glory in complete immobility. It shall be looser.”

The cord slackens a bit, and Loki watches her face, relaxing only when she gives a grateful sigh and nod, shifting herself with more comfort. The allure of her spread thighs draws his gaze down, and Loki arches an eyebrow, lightly humming. “There. Now where were we?”

Star giggles. “I think you were about to _torture_ me . . . in the best possible way.” She flexes her hands and rolls her shoulders as much as she can, then flexes her feet and knees as well. She’s going to be stiff as a board when he finally releases her from bondage, but if she’s about to experience one of her longtime fantasies, then it’ll be SO worth the momentary pain later.

“It seems only fair,” she adds, as Loki continues to make her _wait,_ “that if you indulge one of my fantasies, that I should return the favour. Something for you to consider between the time you send me home, and our next meeting?” she suggests.

“Oh I shall,” Loki promises, and gives a whistle. The ghostly hands fly over and begin to massage his pet’s shoulders as he leans over her open thighs once more.

Star draws in a deep breath and purrs, relaxing into the ministrations of the hands. “Thank you, my Lord,” she says, closing her eyes the better to enjoy the sensations. “Any chance I can rent a few of these servants for my own personal use?” she asks jokingly.

“Shhhhhhh,” comes his quiet instruction. “Now it is time to concentrate, my pet.”

Loki sits on the bed, sliding his legs under her thighs, lifting her hips so the lovely bound package of her lower body is nearly on his lap. The juxtaposition of skin and cord is nothing short of art, he thinks, and he runs his hands up her thighs, letting his thumbs caress the insides. Keeping his focus directed downward, Loki listens, registers the sighs, moans, and occasional curse as he lets his fingers dance over Star’s skin. The tickle of his touch under the cords makes her squirm, and when he rakes his fingers through her curls and tugs the handful gently, her breathing gets very noisy.

From his vantage it’s easy to see her arousal; the slickness gleams along the ruffled edges of her sex. He strokes them between fingers and thumb, keeping his touch light and avoiding that little button of sensitivity sitting like a pearl under her mound. Loki hums, writing runes with his touch, playing with her curls, blowing softly now and then to make his pet writhe.

“I want you,” he growls gently. “So very much, little cat. To touch you, to play with you thus is making me achingly hard, and I cannot _think_ when all of my attention is here focused on the warm enticement between your legs. You too, are hungry for pleasure, eager to be filled and ridden by the god you serve. Your mouth may protest but your slickness betrays your desire for my tongue and my prick.”

Before she can speak he runs his thumb along the tender bridge of skin between her cleft and ass, wetting it with her own juices.

She flinches and gasps, not expecting him to touch her there . . . not that she dislikes it. But something in his voice makes her look up at him, considering. “You know,” she says huskily, “I meant this to be torture for me, not for _you_. So if you need me that badly, then take me, now. We can always resume the ‘torture’ later.” She licks her lips. “Although, would you mind removing my corset and panties first? I want to feel your skin on mine. _All_ of it.”

“And just for the record: You are serving me as much as I serve you. Though _your_ mouth may protest otherwise.” She smirks knowingly up at him.

Loki looks as if he wants to argue, but thinks better of it. He shifts to lean over her, and burying his face along the side of her neck, in the warmth of her hair he mutters, “You know me so well and still open your heart to me . . . I do not deserve you, pet.”

Star blinks. He is SO capricious. One moment he’s cinching her so tight she nearly panics, and yet now he’s in a romantic mood. Is _this_ why she can’t quite bring herself to love him?

She shakes her head slightly. Thoughts best left for another time. “Horny minds think alike, perhaps?” is what she says aloud, smirking still. She wriggles against him, frustrated at the lack of skin-to-skin contact, and wonders if he would get angry if she ordered the ghostly hands to strip her clothes away at last.

As if reading her mind, Loki does a quick push-up and reaches down to pull her untied panties off through the cords around her hips. He waves them like a prize. “Someday you must use them as a gag on me,” he purrs before flinging them over his shoulder. Barely giving her time to giggle, Loki rolls her over and bends to brush her hair from her turned face, making sure she can breathe as her cheek rests against the fur-covered mattress.

“I _accept_ your offer,” he tells her, and murmurs something under his breath. The cord vanishes from Star’s waist down, as does the corset, which reappears up on the pillows near the headboard.

Star breathes a sigh of relief, and then straightens her knees slowly, grimacing. Yes, her muscles are stiff, exactly as predicted. No matter, no doubt Loki will be distracting her soon enough . . . with her favourite sexual position. So thoughtful of him. She flexes her feet next and looks back over her shoulder at him, eager to feel the friction of his skin on - and _in_ \- hers. 

Stretching out on top of her, Loki gives a low hiss of approval, his weight mostly on his knees and elbows, but enough of it is spread out to hold Star in place. She’s warm, which pleases him, and wriggly, which adds urgency to his lust. He splays one hand down between their bodies, palm sliding slickly down the cleft of her ass to cup the wet fur below. “Miiiine,” he whispers into her ear, and rubs gently, working her labia apart. It only takes a moment for Loki to angle himself and let the head of his cock slide in, a slow plunge that makes his stomach tense and his spine arch in pleasure.

Heat. Heat searing him, enveloping his shaft, flooding every pleasure center and making him feel wonderfully savage for the moment. Loki feels his pet’s bound hands twisting against his belly and he withdraws slowly, her muscles clenching in an attempt to hold him within her. The feel of her curves pillowing his groin makes him bare his teeth joyfully.

Not to be outdone, Star pushes back against him as much as she can and circles her hips slowly and deliberately, pressing soft flesh into him. “You’re mine too _,_ ” she hisses, her muscles pulsing around him. Loki growls in response, and she wriggles, enjoying the soft brush of the fur underneath her. It tickles her cheek and tantalizes her nipples, but it also makes her greedy for more. “Bet I can make _you_ come first,” she challenges him, her voice thick with desire. Most likely impossible, but it will sure be amusing to try!

He laughs, but the sound is thick and distracted. “You are SO amusing when you try to give orders.” 

She laughs back mockingly. “Order? It’s a _contest_ , Mr. Mischief. Bet I can make you come first, with both hands tied behind my back!” Which of course they are.

Loki strokes into her again, moving deliberately, fighting for discipline even as the pleasure rolls through his body in waves. He bends to nip her neck right at the join of shoulder and throat, above the collar. The move makes his pet buck, and in that moment the little cog of control slips for both of them. 

She rocks back and Loki surges forward, their bodies in wet, savage sync, grinding in blind lustful heat. Loki loses himself in the maddening delight, free to drive _hard_ into his pet and her tauntingly bouncy ass. He grunts, trying not to crush her into the mattress but coherent thought is gone, and there is nothing but the animal urge making him stroke deeply into her.

Star has to work so very hard to remember to _squeeze_ tightly around him, breaths forced out of her throat in tearing gasps as Loki thrusts into her over and over. _Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come, WAIT!_ She chants to herself, but she’s slipping; she feels the spin of heat slowly cresting inside her. She can only tighten around him and clench her fists together and try to arch up just enough off the tickling fur to keep the stimulation on her pulsing clit to a minimum, in a blind bid to delay orgasm if she can.

Then a circuit seems to connect randomly in her lust-fragmented mind. “Come for me, NOW,” she growls breathlessly back at him, purely on instinct. 

He does, roaring, and Loki feels the staccato shoves of his body on hers drive her mound against the fur coverlet hard enough to bring her over the top as well. Primal joy surges through him as he pins her, fills her, empties himself deep within her.

She shudders; everything fused together by warmth and sweat, such that she can no longer tell where one of them ends and the other begins. “I think,” she mutters slowly, her breath heavy in her throat, “that was . . . officially a . . . tie.”

Loki laughs between gasps, his long hair tickling her shoulders and neck. “We . . . will have to  . . . compete again, at some point.” He purrs, resting against her for a moment before lifting himself and moving to untie her hands. “Poor little bound beauty. So fierce even when tied.”

Star grimaces as she rolls over, sits up and tries to bring her arms around in front of her. “I don’t feel very fierce at the moment. Ow, ow, _ow_.” _Goddamned stiff muscles_ . . . she stretches her arms out to her sides and her elbows crack as loud as gunshots.

Within seconds the ghostly hands are rubbing her skin, and Loki accepts a warm wet cloth from yet another, wiping her thighs and his own before rolling to lie next to her, heavy and sated. “A bath and I will work with the hands to put yet another oil onto your skin. This one is good for the joints. I insist; I will not return you to your life in pain, sweet pet.”

“Very kind of you, my Lord,” she smirks, but she’s not paying full attention. He came on her command, did he? That could prove useful later. _He won’t see it coming._ She contains her evil laugh and shifts over next to him, cuddling up against his side, draping her arm and leg over him. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go home,” she sighs, burying her face in his shoulder and breathing him in. Leather, musk, sweat. She works to memorize it, maybe that will help her stand the long weeks until she sees him again. _Assuming he doesn’t get himself killed or captured by enemies first._ A chill runs up her spine at the thought, and her hand tightens on his lean shoulder, as if she can somehow keep him here, keep him safe.

“I wish it as well, pet, but you have obligations and I have . . . strategies to carry out,” Loki sighs. “Much as I trust you--and I DO trust you--it is far better for you to be ignorant of my deeds so to safeguard you and yours. Times like these, however, take the edge off of my loneliness and keep me aware that _some_ one waits for my return.”

It’s not like him to be melancholy in conversation, but this is Star, and she has earned much of his trust. His love too, although Loki senses that is still too tender a subject to discuss at the moment. Still, he feels invigorated and renewed by their sensual interlude.

Keeping his promise they bathe, and for a full hour he rubs her with the clove and ginger salve, working his pet’s muscles and joints until she is boneless and nearly asleep.

“I think you missed your calling. If you ever open a spa, I will buy a _season_ pass,” she purrs sleepily, snuggling into his arms. She’s snoring softly mere seconds later.

Star wakes up alone in the vast bed, but Loki is not far -- he’s sitting in the golden seat at the foot of the bed, chin on hand, watching her intently. “Time to go,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

She thinks she knows exactly how he feels, but she can’t change the fact that she has another life, one that she can’t let go of. They both have other matters to deal with. The ghostly hands bring her clothes to her, and she dresses slowly, her back to him. When she turns, she jumps in surprise to find him standing _right_ there, looming over her. _Sneaky devil-_

He pulls her into his arms, tangling his fingers in her hair and branding her lips with a possessive kiss. “Until next we meet, my lovely hell-cat,” he murmurs once they separate, a glimmer of a smile hovering on his mouth. 

“I’ll be waiting,” she agrees.

A blinding flash and she’s back on the running trail. She checks her watch automatically, but it seems like only a minute or two has passed in her mortal, usual world. What an amazing trick time travel is.

Sighing, she decides to jog all over again. She’ll likely need the stamina for future encounters with Loki. The downside of being involved with a god, she supposes.

Thirty minutes later she’s back at home, stripping off her sweat-soaked clothes in preparation for her shower. She glances in the mirror, and then freezes.

_ Uh-oh.  _ She brushes her fingers over the necklace still around her throat. Was she supposed to keep this? Wouldn’t it make more sense for her to wear it only while in Loki’s realm? By his own words, she doesn’t belong to him _here_. Until he comes for her anyway.

She doesn’t want to have to lie in answer to any questions about it, so she undoes the clasp and hides it in the very back of her underwear drawer. There.

Crisis averted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Loki displays a fascination with a certain OFC’s hind end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not ours, sadly. I hope Marvel will consider loaning him out.  
> Authors’ Note: You know the routine by now: starhawk wrote the OFC’s POV, and Cincoflex wrote Loki’s. So why am I still saying it? Call me anal (see what I did there?).
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Banner made by **cincoflex**!

Star lounges in the waiting area of the spa, trying not to glare.

The staff here is _gorgeous_. Every last one of them. She sighs enviously. She’s here because she’s heard good things about this place, but honestly . . . she doubts being around so many beautiful people is good for her self-esteem!

A few times a year, she treats herself to a massage, and she decided last week that it was high time. Between managing her daughter and managing the Norse god of mischief and lies, she definitely NEEDS one.

A low, husky voice speaks her name, and Star drops the magazine she is pretending to read.

“That’s me,” she replies, working hard not to frown at the masseuse she has apparently been assigned. The woman is supermodel-pretty, tall with pale skin and long, thick black hair that looks like she just stepped out of the salon. Star sighs again, inwardly. It’s the Stepford Spa, lucky her. 

“Please, follow me,” the woman says. There’s an accent, a musicality to her words that Star can’t place though it seems vaguely familiar. The woman’s working uniform is white and crisp, and her eyes either green or blue, as far as Star can tell. The masseuse leads her to a locker room and hands her a heavy white robe and some slippers. “You may remove all of your clothes and jewelry and place them here, and then come to room 2B. It is two doors down the hall, to your left.” She hands Star the key for a locker. 

“Yeah, sure,” Star answers, brow furrowing as the woman leaves. Doesn’t she usually keep her panties on? She scrunches her brow. It’s been too long since her last massage; she can’t remember.

_ Right, like someone so flat-out beautiful would ever be interested in  _ molesting _someone as NOT supermodel material, as me._ She smiles at the train of her thoughts and shakes her head, starting to strip.

The masseuse is waiting for her outside Room 2B. When she opens the door, Star sees the room is small and dimly lit, with soft music playing. “Shall we begin?” asks the masseuse.

“Sure. I should probably mention, though, that I’m not into very deep tissue massage.” She’d had a boyfriend a long time ago with massage therapy training, and once he had offered her a massage - shiatsu, had it been? - and it had hurt. A _lot_. “Moderate pressure is about my limit.”

The masseuse nods and brushes an artfully-fallen raven lock out of her eyes. “Certainly. Please remove your robe and lay down on the table under the sheet, facing down. When you are ready, call for me.”

Star nods and steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She piles her robe on the tiny counter, toes off the slippers, and then climbs the small footstool to get onto the table easily. The sheet is warm when she slides under it. _Nice._ She lies down and tries to find a comfortable position for her face in the headrest. There.

“OK!” she calls.

There’s the sound of a door opening, then soft footfalls. “Are you comfortable?” the masseuse asks. 

“Yes,” Star says. She’ll be even more comfortable in a few minutes, with any luck.

“Then we shall begin.” The sheet is folded down to her shoulder-blades, and there’s the sound of a jar being opened. Soon, warm hands are massaging her neck and shoulders, working a rose-scented lotion into her skin.

It’s a struggle not to moan out loud. _That would probably give the wrong impression!_

After a few minutes, Star decides that this masseuse is _very_ good. Usually they manage to press too hard in at least one spot and Star has to grit her teeth, but this one is doing a fine job. Star can almost forgive her for being so utterly gorgeous.

The masseuse works on one arm, then the other, and Star lets her thoughts drift, listening to the Asian-themed background music. Then the woman folds the sheet down to her waist and starts on Star’s back, strong fingers sliding carefully around each vertebra. Star exhales slowly and tries not to squirm.

Soon the sheet is folded back over her, draping her up to her neck once more. The masseuse shifts around, her soft breaths just audible over the music, and Star can feel the woman moving the sheet again, now folding it over so that her right leg is uncovered.

The masseuse starts with her foot, working the ankle and heel, the sole, the ball, and then pulling gently on each toe. Her hands make long strokes up the back of Star’s calf, her thigh . . . oh yes, Star _definitely_ needs this.

All too soon the masseuse moves to uncover her other leg, and Star’s entire body feels loose, disconnected, and almost melting into the soft padded surface of the table.

More than halfway done, Star thinks sadly to herself once the woman finishes with her other leg. There’s a bit more to do on her front side, and then that’s it for another two or three months, barring any massages Loki decides to bestow on her-

The masseuse pauses to pour more lotion into her palms. Then those strong hands glide up each of Star’s thighs . . . and then run up under the edge of the sheet and curl over each side of her rear, squeezing firmly. 

Star jerks in surprise; a _butt_ -massage? Uh, she’s sure she’d remember getting something like _that_ before! Her head snaps up to look over her shoulder at the masseuse. “Um, _no_ , not so cool with that, sorry-”

“Oh, pardon me; I was told you were to receive the _full_ massage,” the masseuse murmurs throatily. “Part of the new routine from the director of the center.”

Star blinks. “Uh, I don’t know about _that_. Describe ‘full massage’ to me.” OK, this is more than a little . . . weird.

“Pressure point work through the gluteus maximus and tensor fasciae latae,” the masseuse murmurs, hands shifting down Star’s thighs. “Many females store tension there, which can be detrimental to  . . .  physical activities.” She hasn’t looked up while speaking, her focus still on the sheet.

_ ‘Females’?  _ Star thinks to herself with a little spark of amusement. Still, the woman has a point; there _are_ lots of muscles in the butt region. And they _do_ get sore sometimes.

“Well, if you say so. You’re the professional,” Star agrees after a moment’s consideration. She lowers her face back into the headrest, tucks her arms next to her sides, and takes a deep breath, attempting to return to her former state of relaxation.

“That I am,” the woman murmurs confidently. She strokes the legs again, moving her fingers with more strength against the muscle there, and keeps the touches firm. Once she feels Star relax, **then** it will be time to tease again.

_ Such fun _ , Loki thinks to herself, and smirks. After five more minutes, she begins kneading her pet’s ass, gently at first and then with more intensity. Each globe is a perfect handful, and it is vastly enjoyable to play with them. She makes it a point to let the sheet slip a little, and the darling dimples at the base of Star’s spine peek out, begging to be kissed. Still, Loki holds back, deciding to play the game a little longer.

It’s a definite struggle not to purr out loud as the woman massages her expertly. At some point Star becomes aware that her butt is now fully exposed . . . and her legs are still open. _Ooops_. It’s nothing the masseuse hasn’t seen before, but _still_. Star closes her legs, but that’s when the masseuse announces: “Time to turn over.”

“OK,” Star feels the masseuse lift the sheet. She twists her head to look towards the woman, but she’s holding the sheet up between them like a privacy screen. _C’mon, this is all on the level_. _Has to be,_ she argues with herself, turning over as requested.

The masseuse lets the sheet drape over Star again, covering her from neck to toes. She switches to a new lotion, then bends over and starts applying it to Star’s face.

_ Wow, when they say ‘full massage’, they don’t fuck around _ . Still, the woman’s touch is perfect, light where it needs to be, firmer in other locations. Fingers stroke lightly on her forehead, over her closed lids, then rub more firmly on her temples and scalp. Light touch returns down her cheeks and chin, then the pressure increases as the hands knead their way down the sides of her neck.

The masseuse folds the sheet down to just cover the tops of Star’s breasts, pauses for a touch more lotion, and then works Star’s shoulders for a moment, before sweeping down one arm and taking her hand. Strong fingers knead the palm and press a firm line up each finger, before repeating the process again; shoulder, arm, hand.

The masseuse’s hands return to Star’s shoulders, working the front of them again,  and then sweeping across her collarbones, following each flaring curve.

Lulled, it takes a moment for Star to realize the sheet is now gliding slowly down her chest, a soft caress of fabric that leaves her bare to the waist, stiffening nipples at attention. Her eyes snap open again as her cheeks stain red.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Loki murmurs sweetly. “After all, we are both female, and it’s only natural to be responsive to touch. I take it as a sign that I’m doing well.”

By the look of it, **very** well indeed. For a microsecond Loki feels jealous of . . . himself. Herself. That his pet is so responsive is slightly maddening, and Loki finds that the low-simmering lust within the body he wears is rising sharply, especially since his pet looks so sweet and innocent as she clutches the sheet.

Star bites her lip, still uncomfortable, but the blank, impersonal expression on the other woman’s face eases her tension slightly. Star relaxes her grip on the sheet but doesn’t close her eyes again. Still, does it really matter if she’s exposed? The masseuse isn’t going to touch her breasts - no muscle there to speak of, as far as Star knows!

“I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but this whole thing strikes me as . . . rather unconventional.” She says cautiously. She doesn’t want to make the other woman feel bad, if this is what they are expected to do for every client, but still . . . if there’s a suggestion box or comment card somewhere, Star is going to have a few choice things to say to this director of the centre.

“I suppose it seems so,” Loki replies, adding more oil to her slender fingers, “but we are merely putting into practice the harem tradition that has existed for hundreds of years. Preparing females for erotic activities is a time-honored vocation and _I_ am extremely . . . good at it.” With a cock of her head Loki adds, “You are quite beautiful and very responsive; clearly someone appreciates you.”

Star blinks, her mouth hanging open for a few seconds. There is just _so_ much wrong with what the masseuse just said. _Is it ‘Inappropriate and/or Crazy Comment Day at the Spa’, and I missed the memo?_ She wonders what the other woman would say if Star added her own crazy pronouncement: that she’s a married woman who sleeps with the Norse God of Mischief and Lies on the side. She stops herself, barely.

“Uh, thanks, I guess?” she tries instead. Her fingers pluck at the top of the sheet at her waist, torn between seeing this bizarre experience out and pulling the sheet back up to her neck and demanding to see the manager.

“You are welcome. More than welcome in fact,” the masseuse purred. “Your body misses intimate contact; all the signs are there. In my professional opinion, you need the touch of another to sate the cravings within you.”

_ Am I being hit on? What the  _ hell _-_? “And I suppose you are about to volunteer?” Star asks, voice sharp and edged with sarcasm as her anger rises. Oh yes, she’s about two-point-five seconds from covering herself and reporting this crazy bitch. “Who said you’re even my type? Because I’m sorry to inform you, honey, you’re cute and all but I usually prefer _men_.”

“I think you prefer _gods_ ,” comes the knowing reply, and Loki purses her mouth to blow a kiss before winking outrageously towards his confused little pet. For a few more seconds the confused look stays in place and then, _then_ comes the suspicion. Star arches an eyebrow in a move worthy of himself and speaks up.

“You sonofabitch,” Star growls as the pieces fall into place. How could she not have realized it? Same accent, same hair, skin and eye colour, similar height, not to mention the weird turns of phrase. And he’d told her before that he could take female form!

Either she’s a complete idiot, or Loki used some kind of spell or illusion to flummox her. She sits up, crosses her arms over her bare chest and glares at him. Her. _Whatever_. “Is this a hobby of yours, to turn female and molest unsuspecting women, or was this all for my benefit?” she adds, snarkily.

“It was for _our_ benefit,” Loki replies, smirking, and licking her red lips. “AND a very good trick if I must say so myself. Come, do you not see the humor of it? You, who knows me better than anyone, fooled for a while by my female form? You may huff and puff all you like; I know you enjoyed my touch regardless of any protest you may make.”

And it’s true--Loki can tell she’s aroused by how wide her pupils are and the sweet flush over her chest. 

For a moment Star fumes, ready to call him exactly what she did that first night they were together -- a bastard. Then she bursts out laughing instead. It _is_ pretty damned funny . . . in a totally fucked-up way, of course. 

And then there’s: ‘You who knows me better than anyone’ . . .she doesn’t know whether to be flattered or confused -- it’s times like this that make her feel like she barely knows him at all!

She laughs until tears run down her cheeks, then wipes them away and lays back down on the massage table, letting her arms fall back to her sides again. “I’ll forgive you, Loki, on one condition: You complete this . . . what did you call it? ‘Preparation for erotic activities’ thing on me.” She wonders if he’ll carry that out (assuming he agrees!) in his female form still, or switch to his male one. The former would certainly be . . . interesting. She hasn’t been with a woman in a long time.

“With pleasure,” Loki sighs, and slides her hands to cup her pet’s lovely pert breasts. This time the massage is much more personal, despite the smaller palms. Loki trails circles around each mound and makes it a point to run her thumbs along the tender undersides as well before letting her nails gently scrape the pebbled areola of each. Star shivers and arches up a bit.

Star closes her eyes, focusing on the delicious sensations. “Where did you learn to do this ‘erotic preparation’ thing- wait, I think I know. It was She Who Shall Remain Nameless, right?”

Loki shakes her head. “Oh no. I once tricked an ancient warlord while in my female form, and he wooed me with tender words and gifts of little Midgard maids with soft, strong hands. It was from _them_ that I learned much about the secrets of females. Such capacity for pleasure, such divine control! I knew the form, but they taught me how to enjoy it. When I finally reverted to my male shape I returned the lessons two-fold. So to speak.”

“Horn dog,” Star accuses her, but fondly. “And may I say it is entirely UNFAIR that you are gorgeous no matter what genitalia you’re sporting. There should be a law against that, or something,” she teases.

“I am above any Midgardian rule,” Loki counters, “and I would rather be in a form that arouses you than not.” Her fingers tweak Star’s nipples before gliding up to stroke her collarbones, and the move brings Loki’s face closer.

Star opens her eyes and considers, then reaches up to gently tug Loki’s hair-elastic free, allowing the jet locks to fall around both their faces. She tilts her head up for a kiss and Loki obliges her eagerly, her lipstick tasting faintly of red fruit. Their tongues collide and slide together for a long sensuous moment, before Loki pulls away, smiling.

“So it _does_ please you . . .” she observes a trifle smugly. “Good. I would prefer to keep it a while longer  . . . .” Loki waves a hand towards the door and the click of the lock sounds loud in the room. “We shall not be disturbed.” At Star’s questioning look, she adds, “I can keep time from passing for the two of us when we are within my realm, but not _all_ of Midgard.”

Star nods and reaches up to touch a sleek lock of Loki’s hair, then trails her finger along the edge of Loki’s jaw. So strange; now that her true identity has been revealed there are so many similarities Star can see in both his forms. The cheekbones so sharp he could probably cut glass with them, for example, those are exactly the same. The slightly coarse feel of her hair, the slight wave in it.

Star wonders exactly how Loki plans to ‘sate the cravings within her’, wriggling a little in anticipation. Her hand slides down Loki’s arm, reveling in the fascinating strangeness of hard muscle changed into a more yielding softness. 

Loki laughs softly, and works to pull off the staid uniform, letting it fall to the floor. Under it she is wearing a matching bra and panty set of green and gold lace. “How does the saying go--everyone should feel pretty?” She primps a little, then catches her pet’s gaze and shifts closer on the massage table, reaching out to cup Star’s chin. “Kissing first. Yours are delicious and it has been a while since I’ve tasted your mouth.”

They kiss. Loki enjoys this more than she wants to admit; kissing is a chance to be sensually gentle, and his pet is an excellent kisser.

Star purrs into Loki’s mouth, wrapping fingers in her hair and tugging lightly. It’s only been about two weeks since they last saw each other, but it had felt like _years_ to her. Their tongues duel again, teeth knocking together though neither of them cares, the kisses becoming more urgent, devouring . . . 

Star breaks first, Loki’s lipstick smearing as she kisses a path along her lover’s jaw, then down her throat. Under her lips she can feel the vibrations of Loki’s soft groan, and Loki’s fingers dig into her back, almost to the point of discomfort. 

So sensitive--Loki has forgotten how the female form reads sensation from everything, and the overload threatens to drive her over the edge. She softens her grip on her pet’s shoulders and twists away, drawing in a deep breath. It doesn’t help that Star is smiling at her knowingly.

“You are shamelessly _good_ at this, and my form is particularly . . . susceptible,” Loki admits. “Minx.”

Star’s expression shifts to one that takes those words as a challenge, and Loki shivers when soft lips press against the hollow at her throat. At some point her pet’s fingers have found the hooks to the bra and are now undoing them with amazing speed, making Loki laugh. “Which of us is doing the seducing?” she demands, feeling her lingerie peeled off.

Star laughs against Loki’s throat. “Who’s stopping you?” she mocks. “When you want to be in control again, I’m sure you’ll _take_ it.” But Loki doesn’t move to stop her - yet - so Star tosses the bra to the floor and cups Loki’s breasts, squeezing her nipples firmly, smirking as her lover groans. It’s so amusing how he plays at always wanting to be the Dom, yet the moment Star becomes the aggressor, he gives in so very easily.

Loki rakes her nails lightly down her pet’s spine and along those tempting dimples as she giggles. “Perhaps _both_ of us are taking control,” she whispers, and leans forward, forcing Star to lie back. More kissing of course, but Loki slides one manicured hand up along her pet’s thigh, letting the nails tickle as she moves upward. “I believe there’s a spot I _missed_ in my massage,” she laughs.

“Oh yes, please,” Star urges, letting her thighs fall open. “I was hoping you’d get to that. I’d hate to have to complain to your manager. The customer is always right, you know.” She wags her finger at Loki, grinning, and then reaches to nip the side of Loki’s neck. Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?”

“ _Do_ let me make amends,” Loki replies, and slides her touch further up, caressing the muscles along the inside of one thigh before brushing her fingers along the soft curls between her pet’s legs. She keeps it soft and slow; moving to stroke and caress as the slickness of her pet’s arousal grows. Loki can see how dark Star’s pupils are, and how her pulse has quickened. It’s a pleasure to nibble both aching nipples.

Slowly Loki slides a wet finger into her pet, adding another moments later. She shifts her thumb to circle around the excited little bud, taking care to glide over it only once in a while as her other fingers stroke into Star. “Are we enjoying ourselves?” Loki murmurs, her teeth gripping one nipple and worrying it gently. She rubs against her pet, enjoying the sensation, but keeping her focus on giving pleasure instead of taking it.

“Oh gods, yes,” Star groans, tangling her fingers in Loki’s hair, which is a lot longer than in his male form, and her hips arch up against her lover’s hand. She pants, trying not to orgasm too quickly, wanting it to continue as long as possible. It’s difficult, as Loki knows exactly how to touch her, how to drive her right to the edge.

To distract herself, Star slips a hand between them and scratches her nails gently over one of Loki’s nipples, teasing it to a hard pink point, then slides her hand as far down as she can reach (which is sadly not far, given how short she is). “Anyone ever told you-” her sentence breaks off in a gasp as Loki’s thumb glides across her clit- “that you have a habit of wearing too many clothes?” Star stretches to let the backs of her knuckles brush between Loki’s legs, sweeping across the golden lace.

It’s a losing battle, as she feels Loki work yet another finger inside her, and her thumb settles over Star’s nub, pressing insistently now. Star arches on the table, her breath shuddering out of her, muscles squeezing tightly as Loki rubs and thrusts, the pace quickening until she cries out and everything inside her gives way.

Loki softens her touch, her smeared red smile pressing against Star’s cheek. “Adorable pet,” she purrs and slowly slides her fingers free, letting them slither through the curls and up along Star’s abdomen, not in any hurry. “Seems as if you needed that, didn’t you?”

“You could say that. I really missed you,” Star sighs, content. Then her expression turns sly as she threads her fingers through the waistband of Loki’s panties, pulling her closer. “Do you want me to return the favour?” she asks. “It’s been a long while since I’ve been with a woman - and I never had the opportunity to learn all that much, even then - but I figure I can extrapolate from myself. If you are willing, of course.” She tugs harder on Loki’s underwear and smiles up at her.

“Yes, but not here,” Loki murmurs, feeling her hips wriggle despite her words. “We have already tarried long and soon the management will grow suspicious. We need another venue and I have just a place in mind . . .”

Loki snaps her fingers and the spa around them fades away, replaced by glass windows opening on a stunning view of a white sand beach and majestic palm trees. The decor is decidedly, decadently tropical and she smiles at her pet’s look of astonishment. “The variety on Midgard is a point in its favor. I thought this might be a nice place to continue our . . . reunion.”

Star clutches the sheet around her hips, gazing around with wide eyes. “Wow, this is _gorgeous_. Where are we?” 

Loki tries to remember the name. “Ta-something. An island, and properly remote. Nobody will be bothering us here. Do you like it?” Loki saunters to the window, completely unfazed at being in nothing but very small panties, and waves an elegant arm towards the view. “So much light, and heat. Your world has such bounty. I have noted that Midgardians here barely wear clothing at all, and I must say I approve.”

Star walks over to join her at the window, slipping an arm around Loki’s slender waist. “I do like it, indeed. And the view is not the _only_ gorgeous thing,” she adds, gently stroking Loki’s side. But then Star frowns. “If you don’t mind me asking, don’t you dislike heat? I mean, being Jotunn and all.”

Loki leans into Star, enjoying the caress. “Extreme heat, certainly, but in my years on Asgard I have grown accustomed to adapting to the environs of many places. I prefer the cold, but I am not limited to it.” She slips her own arm around Star and squeezes one buttock, giggling as her pet reacts. “You seem to be doing well without clothing, I see.”

Smirking, Star brushes Loki’s hand gently away and lets the bed sheet fall to the floor. But she has another question, one that has been on her mind for a while. She puts both arms around Loki and rests her cheek against her lover’s breast (and doesn’t that feel both lovely and weird!). “Can I ask you a . . . personal question?”

“But of course you may,” Loki murmurs, slipping her arms around Star and holding her. It’s a lovely sensation, a mix of sensuality and nurturing and feels wonderful.

“Well, um, I’m not sure how to put this, but . . .I was kinda under the impression that you _hated_ being Jotunn. But now you seem proud of your heritage. I don’t know, I guess I am just wondering how you got from Point A to Point B.”

Loki pulls back and holds Star’s gaze, her own expression more serious now. “Complicated, but not impossible to explain. I grew up under false assumptions, my pet. I was given to understand that I was the Allfather’s son as much and rightfully as Thor. That I was an Asgardian. When I discovered that what I believed was not the truth, and that I shared no blood with she who is my mother, or Odin or Thor, it was a bitter revelation. In all that time, I’d been taught to hate and fear the Jotunn. To despise their very existence. Thor himself promised to hunt them down and destroy them all.”

Loki sighs. “I had been lied to. It didn’t matter what the Allfather’s intention had been; the fact that he never chose to share the truth with me or my brother destroyed my faith in him as just and loving. And I took it upon myself to seek the truth of my lineage. I sought out the Jotunn, and spoke with them, discovered my heritage. They didn’t trust me, knowing that I’d been raised at Odin’s son, but they didn’t lie to me as he had. I learned my powers and strengths and abilities. I honed them, and found them useful. I _accepted_ what I was. Accepting is not the same as liking, or enjoying or even taking pride in. Those are coming over time. But I bow my head to NO Asgardian now, much less any of the other beings of the Nine Realms. I am Loki, and in time they shall bow to ME.”

Star tightens her arms around Loki. “Thank you for sharing that with me. And for what it’s worth, I totally agree that Odin was a class-A DICK about the whole thing.” _The whole ‘everyone will bow’ thing is quite a bit less acceptable, but . . . baby steps, right?_

A deep chuckle rises from Loki’s throat, sultry and amused. “Crude but accurate. It is hard even now to untangle the emotions that still bind me to those I once called family. I prefer to be honest when dealing with what truly matters. Oh I still lie and deceive, yes, but there are times when I do not. When I am with you . . . I do not.”

Star inclines her head and kisses the hollow of Loki’s throat, inhaling the faint perfume of her skin. Still smells like leather, ha. “Glad to hear it. And now, I do believe someone is still wearing way too much clothing.” She hooks her fingers into the waistband of Loki’s panties and tugs them down to her knees, then lets them fall to the floor. “Bed?” Star asks, indicating the one behind them. It’s not as huge as the one in Loki’s hall, but it’s certainly more luxurious than the one Star normally sleeps on.

Loki bats her eyes; an effectively seductive move she’s practiced. “Oh yes,” comes her purr and she saunters over, swinging her hips, confident that her pet’s eyes are on her ass. Looking back over her shoulder, Loki purses her lips. “Make me yours,” she breathes, eyes twinkling.

Star grins. “Your wish is my command,” she replies saucily, coming up behind Loki and shoving her playfully face-down onto the mattress. Once again, Loki proves all too willing to submit himself. Or maybe the form he is currently wearing is influencing him? Maybe Star should encourage him to take this form more often.

Star climbs up the bed to straddle her lover. “On the other hand, maybe I should collar _you._ You seem to enjoy it immensely when I’m in the driver’s seat,” she whispers in Loki’s ear, then nibbles gently at the lobe. Encouraged by Loki’s shudder underneath her, she lifts dark hair aside and nips a line down the side of Loki’s neck, rubbing her body against Loki’s back as she does so.

Star strokes her fingers as lightly as she can, from the top to the bottom of Loki’s spine, following her hand with a trail of soft kisses. Is that _panting_ Star hears? She smirks again, enjoying the rare sense of power.

Definitely have to do this more often. 

Star kisses the dimples to either side of Loki’s spine - Loki had certainly seemed entranced by _hers_ \- then nips each rounded cheek. Loki gasps but doesn’t resist when Star moves back even further on the bed and reaches to tug those long, sleek legs apart. 

“I wonder how many interesting noises I can make _you_ utter?” Star muses out loud, stroking those tickling fingertips from the back of Loki’s knee to the crease between buttock and thigh. Loki’s pretty nails dig into the sheets, and Star could swear she just heard a whimper.

Loki fights for some sense of decorum, but this female form combined with the yearnings of the last few weeks is nearly too much. She grinds against the sheets and forces herself to stop. “Noises? I do not make ‘noises,’” Loki protests, but feels herself grinning even as she looks over her shoulder at her pet. There is something fierce and beautiful about Star, she thinks, and then stares harder, particularly at her pet’s neck. _Aha_ , Loki thinks. _Now I have you._

“We’ll see about _that,_ ” Star smirks. She strokes her way up the back of Loki’s other leg, then goes right to the dark curls between Loki’s thighs. The soft folds of skin are slippery and hot, and Loki jumps but manages to keep her sounds down to a sharply-indrawn breath. _I guess I’ll have to try harder,_ Star thinks.

She shifts position, kneeling next to Loki, then explores her lover in earnest, caressing first the outer lips, then the tender inner ones, and then slipping shallowly inside her, Star biting back her own groan as strong muscles clutch at her. To her credit, Loki manages to be fairly silent; there’s only the sound of her erratic breaths. 

Star’s own arousal is rising again, and she shifts to rub herself against the mattress to relieve some of the tension. It’s Loki’s turn now, after all.

“Impressive control,” Star admits, “but then again, we haven’t tried _this_ -” She slips her wet fingers out of Loki and slides them forwards until she feels the thick bead under her fingers. She rubs it firmly, smirking as she waits to see if Loki will break.

The sound Loki makes is low and urgent; desperate if the truth were told. She bites her lip and lets it turn into a chuckle. “Oh you are _wicked_. I’ve chosen well with you.” Rolling, Loki manages to turn towards Star and reaches up for the other woman, pulling her down on top of her own form. The press of their bodies with all the curves is delightful, and Loki wraps one leg around Star’s hip, maximizing the press of her mound against that of her pet. “This. This will do nicely---”

Star groans and grinds against Loki. “Wicked? Me? I say it takes one to know one,” Star gasps, cupping Loki’s breast and playing with the nipple as they continue to rub against each other. Can Star climax this way? Definitely will be fun to try and find out.

Loki angles her hips, shuddering as the increased contact and pressure brings on waves of pleasure. It’s been a while but certain delights do come back, and this is no exception. She arches up, leg tightening around Star’s hip, and lets herself come hard, enjoying the molten bliss that flows through her when she finally relaxes. Looking up, Loki smiles into her pet’s face and runs a hand up from her ribcage to caress the sleek line of her neck.

“Sweetheart, darling mine . . . exactly _where_ is your collar?” she purrs, feeling a sense of wicked control returning to her.

Star blinks down at Loki. She hasn’t come again yet and she’s feeling a little jealous, but there are more important things to deal with right now. Pleasure can wait a moment. “At home, hidden in a safe place. If I’d known I would be seeing you today, my Lor- _Lady_ , I would’ve worn it to the spa, but unfortunately I don’t have any precognitive abilities,” she points out. It’s a reasonable defense, she feels.

“And why are you not wearing it constantly? Does it displease you?” Loki asks, knowing the question is loaded and unfair, but loving the sight of his pet squirming as she tries to pleasure herself _and_ find a tactful answer to her question.

Star fumbles to find the best way to explain through the haze of arousal. “Constantly? Um, I am afraid there are two problems with that, my Lady. One, unfortunately I have a husband who might wonder why I am wearing this massive piece of jewelry all the time, especially since it didn’t come from him.” She pauses and takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the worst. “And two, to do so would be a violation of our agreement.” 

Loki cocks her head. She has an idea of what her pet means, and yes, it is a technicality, but it would be easy to remind Star how pleased and eager she was to receive the collar in the first place. “A violation,” Loki repeats, playing along. As she speaks she slides a hand down between their bodies, her intent clear. “How would wearing such a lovely gift constitute a violation?” 

Star utters a sharp cry and digs her fingers into the mattress on either side of Loki as her lover’s fingers slip across her nub. Star shakes her head, trying to get her words into some kind of logical order, but she can’t think. Exactly what Loki intends, no doubt. Star knows she could just move away, let herself cool down, but her need is too great.

So she stays, hips riding Loki’s fingers, and does her best with what brain-cells she has left. “I think you know,” she retorts raggedly. “My _Lord_ ,” she adds deliberately. His form might be different, but he’s still the same trickster.

She lets her fingers circle and stroke until Star shudders, head thrown back and sweet little cries filling the room. Being able to watch her pet come is delightful, Loki knows. Something about that unrestrained joy is addictive and intimately arousing. When Star finally slumps, limp and warm, Loki curls around her, letting her own hands stroke all that lovely skin once more. “I suppose I do, but it’s such a pretty piece--rather like yourself--and I take pride in seeing it on you. Since I never tell you when I will fetch you, wouldn’t it be wiser to wear it all the time?”

Star fights to catch her breath. “Neither of which are the point. Yes, it’s lovely. Yes, it would be easier to keep it on all the time. But you said it yourself - with you, I am yours. Everywhere else, I am my own. And how am I supposed to do that with the symbol of your ownership around my neck, even when you are not with me? It’s hard enough splitting myself already, without that reminder on me all the time.”

Loki draws in a breath and bites her lower lip, trying hard to hold back the retort about how difficult it is for _her_ as well, and that they should both keep focused on matters at hand. Or _in_ hand at this point. “I’m sorry to have added to your burdens,” she finally murmurs, stroking Star’s spine.

Star can hear the hurt in Loki’s voice, and she bites her own lip. “No, _I’m_ sorry,” she says sincerely, brushing her lips against her lover’s. “I should have talked to you about all this when you first offered me the collar. Maybe even before that, but I didn’t think of it until it was too late. For that I can only offer the excuse that I’m negotiating a situation that is very new for me, and I’m just trying my best to make sure that nobody gets hurt – not you, not me, and not my family.” She shakes her head and burrows tighter into Loki. _Yeah, doing really well with that ‘not hurting Loki’ part,_ she chides herself. Why is it she so often manages to say the wrong thing to him?

“Tell me how I can make it up to you,” Star suggests, face pressed into Loki’s neck.

Loki gives a soft little purr and quickly rolls with Star, pinning the other woman and smiling down into her face. “You may make it up to me by doing just what I tell you to--for the moment. I started by massaging that lovely backside of yours and my interest in it has not abated, little pet. You do have a very nice flank, you know.”

Star has to laugh. “OK. My backside is yours, Lady. Do with it as you see fit.” She wriggles against Loki’s grip, enjoying the sensation of being pinned down. Star wonders if Loki plans to spank her again. 

If so, it will be different this time. Normally Star enjoys being spanked, but the last time (their first time together) had been _challenging._ She’s not even sure why. Maybe it was everything added together - the surrealism of discovering Loki was actually real, the inevitable nerves that came with being with a new partner, the angry exchange they’d had just before she’d tried to submit - but it had been more a battle against pleasure than giving in to it. Not this time, she orders herself.

“I think,” Loki breaks into her thoughts, “I _like_ your attitude. It’s time to see how you look in pink stripes. Be a lovely girl and roll over while I find something suitable for my purpose.” She drops a hard kiss on Star’s mouth, pressing down against her firmly before pushing up and executing a perfect roll to the side, landing on her feet gracefully.

_ This is good _ , Loki thinks to herself. _Now to make it better._ She saunters over to the window, and pretends to stare out of it, but in reality watches Star’s reflection in the shiny glass. When her pet has turned over, settling in on her stomach, Loki turns and snaps her fingers, drawing in power currents flowing all around the room. A familiar toy box pops into existence held in the air by two ghostly, very male hands.

“What to use, what to use,” Loki sing-songs softly, throwing open the lid. “A strap from my armour? Our old friend the flog? Perhaps my hand, in a glove? So many options open to us, pet.”

Star squirms breathlessly, tension coiling in her belly. “I’ve never had a strap used on me before . . . it makes me a little nervous,” she admits. On the other hand, though there have been some challenging moments (and he’d warned her there would be, hadn’t he?), he’s never harmed her. So-- “But I’m willing to try anything once. So I say why choose, when you can use all three, my Lady?” Star smirks over at Loki.

“Clever girl,” Loki praises, feeling impish. She reaches deep into the box and pulls out a long string of emeralds. “First, however, you need something to wear. Since I don’t trust you an _inch_ not to move if I leave, this will do for a temporary collar,” Loki teases, and slinks back to the bed. She straddles Star’s back and slips the necklace around her pet’s throat, being very careful not to choke her, or snag it in her hair. “Midgardian beliefs say these stones enhance love, devotion and adoration.”

She knows the stones are cool because Star wriggles a little. As Loki rises, she turns and bends, nipping one pert cheek and leaving a tiny smear of red lipstick on it. At Star’s little yelp of surprise, Loki giggles. “Think of it as a preview of good things to come, sweet minx.”

Star resists the urge to rub the spot, watching her lover with smouldering eyes. “Wait a minute,” she says as something tickles at her memory. “If you leave? ” Her brow furrows. _Leave? Huh?_ “I thought we were just getting started,” Star continues, batting her eyelashes at Loki.

“We _are_ ; I would rather give you a second collar than waste time fetching the first one, darling,” Loki points out. She rises and moves around the bed, studying her pet and thinking aloud. “How best to do this? On your knees perhaps, with a few pillows to bend over on top of, I think. And to help keep you still---”

Ghostly hands grip Star’s wrists and ankles, moving her into proper position.

Star lets herself sag onto the pillows. “Thank you, my Lady,” she purrs. “You’re so thoughtful of my comfort. Well, relatively,” she adds with a lopsided grin, thinking about what is to come. She deliberately wriggles her backside.

“That won’t last,” Loki promises, and picks up the strap. It’s one of the pieces that keeps the leather tunic closed around her when she’s a he, and very flexible. She turns; moves back to Star and drops the end of it on the mattress just under her pet’s nose. “I’m sure you’ve seen this before.”

From the shiver Star gives, that’s an affirmative, and Loki pulls it so it trails over her pet’s shoulder and down her bare back, all the way down to slide over one buttock. “Now it will be more than a part of my armor; now it will be part of a memory.”

Lightly, Loki snaps it against one cheek, and watches as the sting leaves a faint pink stripe against the velvet skin. It’s a soft blow to tease, nothing more. 

Star shivers, gooseflesh rising all over her body, allowing a low gasp to escape her throat. She’s not going to struggle to stay silent, not this time. She has every intention of surrendering. 

The notion that Loki might be thinking of her, remembering _this_ moment, every time he puts on this particular piece of leather in the future . . . that’s a pleasing thought. “I’ll never look at your armor the same way again,” Star chuckles. _And neither will you._

Loki gives a throaty laugh; very sexy coming from his female form. She swings the strap so it makes a hum through the air, but slows it before she snaps it once more against Star’s ass. It’s a slightly stronger strike, but again, nothing dangerous. “You _do_ look lovely in pink,” comes the observation, and before Star can say anything, Loki bends to run a finger along the damp crease of her pet’s sex, the glaze of arousal gleaming in the light. 

The sting from the strap has softened, turning tingly and hot, and Loki’s touch, falling right where Star needs it makes her groan happily and squirm against the strong hands holding her down. “Do I? Thank you, Lady,” she manages to purr. Loki presses the fingertip a little into her, and Star shudders out another little gasp, muscles fluttering and grasping at the welcome invader.

“Ripe as a peach,” Loki observes, slowly adding another finger. “And just as tempting.” She strokes deeply for a few thrusts, then withdraws them, wiping the slickness onto the leather strap as Star watches. “Luscious.” With speed, Loki snaps the strap twice, putting two more stripes across her pet’s bottom, letting these have a bit more bite to them and Loki worries she may have hit too hard. Nervously she waits to see Star’s reaction.

Star cries out, tensing, then exhales slowly as the sharp sensation fades to a more manageable level. Those ones _really_ stung, but once the aftereffects radiate through her, she relaxes down onto the pillows again, now allowing her head to hang down as well. Her clit throbs, begging to be touched, and she tries to wriggle but she can’t move enough to give herself any real kind of relief. She’s totally dependent upon Loki for that, too.

She wonders how much Loki is enjoying the view. What is it with men - well, _woman_ in this case, sort of - and backsides? She’s tempted to think it’s some kind of leftover primate impulse, except of course such wouldn’t apply to Loki, as he’s technically not human.

Speaking of Loki, she hasn’t done anything for a few seconds, and Star twists to look back over her shoulder at her lover. “Testing my mettle, Loki of Asgard?” she asks, smirking a little. Then she frowns as she remembers their earlier conversation. _Damned Marvel canon!_ “Whoops, I’m sorry. I guess it’s ‘Loki of Jotunheim’, right? Or ‘Loki Laufeyson’?”

“I am Loki of _all_ of them,” comes the mild reply. “Merely admiring and plotting, dear.” Another snap of the strap strikes, but this time Loki leans down and cups her hand along her pet’s mound, caressing it. “I think you need something to grip . . .”

Loki waves a hand and the lovely vibrator appears in it. She moves to rub the tip along Star’s stripes, then pushes it between the lust-slickened petals of her pet’s sex, sliding it in and smirking when Star moans with pleasure. “There. Something to keep you full while I finish this.”

“So thoughtful,” Star repeats, the words part gasp and part groan. Pleasure spikes within her. Oh yes, _this_ Star definitely enjoys. _Where do I sign up for more?_ she thinks to herself.

Her muscles twitch and pulse around the toy . . . as it slides backwards and then falls out of her and onto the mattress. _Crap._ “Uh, a little help here?” 

Loki giggles; she can’t help it really--Star is clearly enjoying herself, and this little setback is temporary. Carefully Loki picks up the vibrator and motions to another ghostly hand to slowly plunge it in and out where it’s clearly needed. Then she swings the strap again, this time working on the sensitive area between cheek and thigh, along the crease of the haunch. It doesn’t take a lot of power to raise the color there, and the effect is raw and gorgeous. Loki draws a breath and stops to caress one of her own breasts, feeling her own arousal growing.

Star cries out again, but it’s more in pleasure than pain, the heated sting merging with all the other sensations centred in her core. The toy is set on the lowest setting, but the ridge on it finds every sweet spot inside her. “Oh God,” she pants thickly, “ _Loki._ ” Her fingers dig into the sheets until knuckles go white, sweat trickling slowly down her skin. Her thoughts are starting to tangle together, their edges lost as she sinks further into sensation, but one stray thought does get through- _Frost Giant’ll_ melt _if she gets any closer right about now-_

The intimate, raw pleasure of seeing Star just about to tip over the edge makes Loki grit her teeth. She whips one last lash against those pretty cheeks and then slips a hand down to cup Star’s mound again, letting her fingers lightly rub against that stiff button buried in the curls. Star’s throaty groans fill the room, and Loki slides her other hand, cool and soft, over the heat radiating off her pet’s ass. For long seconds Star climaxes, body taut and shuddering before she finally collapses onto the mattress. The ghostly hands relax their grip, and the one holding the end of the vibrator slowwwwwly withdraws it.

Loki takes the strap and threads it between her pet’s wet thighs, letting Star’s juices soak into the leather. With a soft pull she slides it out again, kisses it, and sets it aside before curling up on the mattress next to her exhausted pet.

It seems to take a long time for Star to be able to move again, her muscles lethargic, heat still radiating off her backside, though the ache there doesn’t really bother her. When she can, she shoves pillows out of the way until she can wrap her arms tightly around Loki’s neck, pressing their bodies together. “Thank you,” Star purrs. “There are . . . no words in the English language for how wonderful that felt. Let me try to return the favour.”

She’s the one to reach between their bodies now, stroking her fingers through dampened black curls as she draws Loki’s red mouth to hers for a deep loving kiss. Soon enough Star wants to taste more of her lover’s skin, so she kissed and licks her way down Loki’s throat and chest, pausing to lap at each firming nipple. Her other hand continues to stroke, searching through Loki’s folds until Star can slip her fingers deep inside.

Loki’s hands tighten on Star’s shoulder blades, soft sounds passing through her mouth, though the pitch and volume increases quickly as Star’s hand moves faster. It emboldens Star to nudge Loki onto her back, to push her unresisting legs further apart, before sliding her fingers back into her lover. The heat inside Loki seems to contradict her Jotunn heritage, and Star smirks at the observation before she leans over her lover’s body to wrap her mouth around that most tender of spots, right above where her fingers are thrusting in and out.

It doesn’t take long before Loki’s hips are pushing up hard, in time to Star’s movements. Strong fingers tangle in Star’s hair, and Star savours the sweet saltiness as Loki arches beneath her. Is that Star’s name that Loki just uttered between panting breaths? She smiles and waits for the last few ripples of pleasure to run their course, and then she lets her hand slide out of Loki, her head pillowed on her lover’s belly, eyes closing as the last of Star’s strength deserts her. 

It’s a while before Loki wakes, feeling a rare sense of peace. She draws a breath and lets her form shift back to male, feeling a surge of strength and height through his frame even as he reaches a hand to stroke Star’s hair.  There are plans and strategies to carry out, and Loki has three alliances to broker out in one of the other realms, but here in this warm little hideaway he allows himself to relax. Certainly his pet has surprised him in the best of ways; her willingness to take him on in _any_ form charms him; pleases him to no end. 

“Oh best of pets,” he whispers softly. “Little kitten with the softest fur and fiercest squeak. I put you through so much and you _still_ want to play, still wrap yourself around the jagged stone I have for a heart.” Loki slips his other hand to reach for the strap, and brings it to his nose, smiling. “Now I will have your essence with me wherever I go.”

Star wakes gradually, disoriented for a few seconds. A hand is gently stroking her hair and it feels lovely, and yet . . . something is different. Then she works it out; the belly under her cheek has changed from soft to hard, with firm muscle shifting subtly underneath her. She lifts her eyes, looking up the length of her lover, and just as she expected he’s back in his typical form.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” Star purrs huskily. “So, had your fill of my behind yet? Do I look as good in ‘pink stripes’ as you hoped?”

“You do and it does,” Loki replies, looking over his pet’s shoulder and letting his hands cup her bottom. “Although we may need to repeat the application as some time in the future. For now, I think both of us need nourishment before anything else. I know there is some Midgardian way to procure food here, but how it is done . . . “Loki shrugs. “You must show me.”

“Repeat the application? Oh, _darn_ ,” Star jokes. She moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “Hmmm, I don’t normally come to resorts like this, but I imagine there’s a restaurant or something around here. I don’t suppose you have GPS or anything? Oh, and I’m guessing I’ll need my clothes.” She looks around, but all she sees is the crumpled sheet by the window. Hopefully Loki can access the locker at the spa easily enough, or she’s definitely going to frighten a few locals. Or start a new fashion trend. One or the other.

Loki opens a closet; the hangers are full, the clothing evenly divided between male and female attire. “We have choices here, and there is . . .” he taps a finger on the polished bamboo dresser. A second later, coins, bills and jewels scatter across the surface like casino winnings, “currency as well.” Looking at Star’s expression Loki gives a faint shrug. “I have given this some thought, pet. Not every decision is by impulse. Come, choose our garments and we shall walk among others.”

Twenty minutes later, Loki glances around the terrace that overlooks the lagoon, watching the sun begin to set, colors bleeding across the water. There are lights strung through the palm trees and a little breeze makes the tiki torches flicker as Star clings to his arm and makes an approving sound. A waiter approaches and gives a little bow of his head.

“Mr. Laufeyson?”

Loki nods an affirmative and they follow the waiter, Star still holding tight to Loki’s arm. It’s gorgeous here, but she feels very out of her element. Hell, she’s never even travelled out of  North America ! 

Yet Loki has been to different planets, probably even to other universes. She can barely wrap her mind around _that_ notion. Let alone that he wants to rule them all. _Yeah, no._

The waiter brings them to a table at the very edge of the terrace, and though Star has to smile at Loki pulling the chair out for her like a proper gentleman, she winces as she settles onto her tender bottom. “Ouch!” she says once the waiter moves away. “I don’t suppose you have any healing balm in that toy chest of yours? I think I’ll need some once we get back. If I last that long,” she mutters the last bit to herself. Maybe she should’ve thought to suggest room service instead. At least she could’ve eaten while lounging in bed, instead of out here in public, trying to find a comfortable sitting position without being _obvious_ that she is trying to find a comfortable sitting position.

I have a few unguents, but I do not know if they will work for you,” Loki tells her with concern. “If you are in pain then perhaps it would be best to forgo matters and simply pass the evening together. I _do_ appreciate your company for more than just pleasures of the flesh, my pet. Not _everything_ must end in lust.” 

“ _Not_ everything? How disappointing,” she winks at him. Since she _does_ enjoy doing things with him other than bedroom acrobatics, she decides to put up with the soreness for as long as she can. “ _Pain_ is a strong word. Let’s call it ‘discomfort’, OK? And we’ll just have to rely on you to _distract_ me.” Finally finding a semi-decent position - with one leg folded under her - she stretches her arm across the table towards him, reaching out for his hand. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but as hot as you look in your armor, you look equally hot dressed as one of us ‘Earthlings’,” she observes, smirking.

Loki arches an eyebrow at the compliment, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. I believe in making the effort. What should we have the servants bring us? I know fish are probably the wisest choice, but nothing on this list looks familiar to me. And something to drink would be good as well. What, as the native here, would you suggest?”

As his pet studies the menu, he looks around, taking in the ambience of the terrace. The sun has set and the sound of the sea is soothing. _Almost romantic_ , Loki notes. He hasn’t had a lot of experience with the concept, at least not in terms of courting in a formal sense. Oh he knows the steps; living as the son of a king means Loki understands the process. Noble families choose to marry as a form of battle strategy more often than not, and love is generally an afterthought. It’s odd to think that his mother once had hopes that he and Thor would find mates, and now . . . now that will not happen, at least not for himself.

It’s a melancholy thought, and not one Loki wishes to inflict on his pet, so he catches the eye of the servant hovering nearby and waves her over.

“Uh, sorry, could you give us just another minute or two?” Star asks the waitress.

Loki looks questioningly at her as the woman nods and leaves. “Look, I may be a native of this _planet,_ but not of this region. And I don’t know what _you_ like. I’m not really a huge fish fan, but I do like salmon. Or would you like to try some seafood? I see they have lobster. It’s very good . . . though it might be a bit messy to eat.” She squeezes his warm fingers gently and smirks at the thought of elegant Loki wearing a lobster bib. But when she looks up from the menu he looks distant and a little sad, and she wonders what she’s done wrong _now_. _Crap._ “Loki, what’s wrong? Are you OK? We don’t have to do the lob-”

“Nothing is wrong,” he tells her firmly, making sure he smiles as he does so. “I am hungrier than I thought, that’s all. I will have this lobster, and if it is not to my liking, then we shall have chocolate instead. They _do_ have that, do they not?”

His pet laughs aloud, and when she does he feels his mood lighten considerably. She is graceful and bold; a good companion indeed. Star nods, and tells him that it’s not generally a dinner item, but Loki waves that away.

“Just no chocolate-covered lobster, OK?” she says, shaking her head and stroking her fingertips lightly along the palm of his hand. It would probably be easier for her to flip through the menu with both hands, but she wants to feel his skin under hers. He’s lying about nothing being wrong, she’d stake her professional license on it, but she’ll let it go for now.

“I can never remember which wines are supposed to go with what, but we can ask the waitress. Or they might have a sommelier. I’m only going to drink one glass though, I’m warning you now. That’ll likely be enough to make me tipsy. Staying away from alcohol during my pregnancy and two years of breastfeeding has made me a lightweight.” She shifts a little as the leg bent under her starts to fall asleep.

“Wine,” Loki muses. “Wine could be . . . helpful, for this evening,” he looks at her, hoping his pet understands his meaning. If her offer of intimacies of a more exotic variety is still in consideration, then wine will make an excellent first start.

_ An opener _ , he thinks, and fights a laugh as he looks at Star. 

Her eyes narrow as she gazes at him and his barely-concealed amusement. “Loki Laufeyson, I do believe you are trying to get me drunk.” She releases his hand and crosses her arms over her chest, giving him her best suspicious look. “Well? Are you going to _tell_ me what depravity you plan to visit upon me tonight, or are you going to leave me in suspense?” 

He’s enough of an infuriating prick to simply smile and wait until the waitress has returned and taken their orders before he reminds Star of her offer. To her credit she looks intrigued, and Loki feels compelled to be honest with her.

“In my time with Angrboða I came to know this variation and all the preparation necessary to make it pleasurable. I do not have many reasons to think well of my enchantment, but this would be one indeed. Tell me pet; are you willing to entice me so, or shall we choose _other_ games for tonight?” He waits for her answer, feeling a surge of desire as he watches her in the light of the torches, noting the brightness of her eyes and the tease of her smile.

“And here I thought you were done with my backside . . . well, as long as you promise to be gentle, no problem. I don’t have a lot of experience with _that_ , and the experience I did have was not exactly . . . fun,” she explains, her smile faltering a little at the memory. “Two glasses of wine for me, then. Maybe even _three_. But I hope you’ll give me enough time afterwards to sober up.” She frowns over at the sunset. “Say, you can still bend time here, right? Or I’m going to be _very_ late to pick up my kid from daycare.”

Loki cocks his head and concentrates; as he does so the sun rises in the west and climbs back into the sky; around them the tables fill and empty, both with plates and people in a rewinding of the day. By the time he stops the hour is . . . lunchtime. He rubs his forehead and blinks a little, feeling the twisting pain begin to fade. His pet looks around utterly amazed.

“Show off,” she finally accuses him fondly, though her smirk fades when she sees his pained expression. She scoots her chair over next to him and bats his hand away, taking over the head-massage until the little line between his brows relaxes. “Good thing you didn’t back us all the way to breakfast,” she remarks. “Somehow I doubt they serve lobster and wine brunches, even here!”

She doesn’t know if he even really heard her - he’s too busy ogling her cleavage (well, the little she has, anyway). He does seem to like the dress she’d picked out. It has thin spaghetti straps and two layers, the inner one white and opaque, and the outer one gauzy and splashed all over with abstract blots in varying tones of green and blue. It goes quite well with her ‘temporary collar’ of emeralds, which he’d insisted that she continue to wear.

“I will be well once we have eaten,” Loki reassures her. “A time-turning between here and your home requires a moment of pure focus that can be draining. Sustenance will help, and now we have our time in abundance.”

The lunch hour is uncrowded, and the food exquisite. The lobster is done in thermador style and comes with a Chateau Noir Chardonnay that lives up to its price. Loki enjoys the meal, eating enough to satisfy but not gorge himself. He can see that his pet is by turns fidgety and finicky, picking at her meal but dutifully drinking the wine. Loki senses Star is both excited and anxious, so he keeps his voice soft, and reaches for her hand often, soothing her with his presence. Once the meal is done, he offers her his arm and they walk back to the suite out on the end of the dock. Before they reach the door though, Loki pulls her to his chest and kisses her, meeting her mouth with his. 

Star wants to melt into the kiss, she really does, but her mind keeps trying to get up and wander off. It kept happening during lunch (dinner?) too. Despite the utter deliciousness of the lobster, she found herself too nervous to eat much of it. Even the wine isn’t helping as much as she’d hoped, though she’d stopped herself at two glasses. So she has a warm feeling in her belly, a slight slur to her words and a little more clumsiness to her movements, but her anxiety is still alive and kicking.

Her mind keeps replaying images from the _last_ time. Her Dom had sprung the act on her in the middle of a heavy scene, without negotiating it with her first, and she’d been totally unprepared. Not for the physical consequences - it hadn’t actually _hurt_. But for the psychological ones; her brain had vapor-locked and she hadn’t even been able to safe-word.

She and Loki don’t even _have_ a safe-word (assuming she could use it this time, either!). Which means this could be a really bad idea . . .

On the other hand, it’s not like she’s being ambushed this time; he talked about ‘preparation’, didn’t he? She _does_ trust him, trusts him to make it far better for her than her previous experience. She reminds herself of that as she returns his kiss, letting him warm her chilly hands in his larger ones as he opens the door and leads her into the suite. 

“First things first,” Loki murmurs, searching her eyes. “We are going to bathe in the hot pool together.” He lets his pet undress him; helps her out of her pretty dress, letting his touch be both tender and teasing as he does so. It’s fun to drop to his knees and slip her high heels off, to scoop her up and carry her to the secluded patio and the steaming pool there. 

They soak. Loki allows himself to relax completely, enjoying the water. It’s warmer than he’s used to, but it helps, along with the scent of jasmine tinting the water. Star settles in with a sigh, moving to his side and leaning against him, her hands caressing him under the water.

The heat helps to relax her. A _lot_. Loki’s hands occasionally skimming over her skin don’t harm either, and the water finally eases the last of the tenderness out of her backside. Which is good, considering it’s about to get another workout.

She leans her head against Loki’s chest. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a killjoy. I want to do this with you. It just makes me a little nervous, too.” She sighs and wraps her arms around him, as his fingers trace a slow line up the middle of her back. She stops there; he doesn’t need to know the details.

“We do not _have_ to do this,” Loki reminds her. “I understand your trepidation; I had much the same myself when first presented with the opportunity. Let us take matters in small steps, and if at any time you do not want to proceed, we will stop. Is that fair enough?” Even as he speaks he pulls her onto his lap and strokes her back and hips, his touch languid. The key is relaxation, and that comes with trust. Loki nuzzles her neck, waiting for her reply.

“Yes, my Lord. That sounds very reasonable,” she agrees, after a brief hesitation. Then she adds, curious: “Were you the, erm, giver or receiver your first time?”

He chuckles. “I received, and no, I was _not_ in my female form. Fortunately the experience was very good, and I took the lesson to heart, if not other places.” Loki laughs with his pet at that, and nips the lobe of her ear, feeling pleased. “Therefore I do speak with empathy.”

It is the truth, and his memories of lying under Angrbooa are still full of dark enchantment. While she was never kind, she _had_ been gentle and deliberate, making the unknown much less frightening. By the time he’d climaxed (so long and powerfully that he’d cried out) Loki had realized how much pleasure could be had in being taken in such a way.

“Kinky,” Star can’t help smirking at the mental image. “I’ll give She Who Shall Remain Nameless points for that.” She stretches to kiss Loki, caressing the lean muscle of his arms, and then closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the water bubbling against her skin. “I probably shouldn’t stay in here too much longer; I love Jacuzzis but I get overheated pretty fast.”

“Agreed,” he tells her, and helps his pet out, drying her off with one of the large bath sheets and taking his time doing so. When she insists on reciprocating Loki lets her, enjoying her ministrations. Finally though, he pulls her onto the bed to lie with him there in the low light of the bedside lamp.

“A new oil,” he informs her, and wiggles his fingers. Instantly, a little stone jar pebbled with gems appears in it. Loki brings it closer where they both look at it, and he speaks again. “Oil of Notyr. It’s used for healing and relaxation. It has . . . tranquil properties. Nothing too overpowering, but it does have a reputation as the best agent for our purposes. And the scent is appealing.”

“Sounds right up my . . . _alley_?” Star can’t help punning. Loki uncorks the jar and holds it up for her to sample its perfume. She inhales and wrinkles her brow, musing over the scent. “It’s like . . . I don’t know, a cross between a peach and a rose. And spicy, too. It’s interesting.” 

“A boon,” Loki assures her, and sets the stone jar on the nightstand. He smiles and pulls her over him, taking joy in the simple press of skin to skin. There is no sense of urgency, and he kisses his pet, taking time to run his tongue around hers. For a while they indulge themselves, and then Loki turns his attention to her breasts, teasing the skin and toying with her nipples until they are rosier than usual and stiff enough to suckle. When he does, his pet groans with pleasure, her eyes dark with growing lust. This is good, Loki knows. If he can give her at least one climax before attempting to breech her, she will be much more receptive. He hungers for her more than he realizes.

Star moans softly and cards her fingers through Loki’s still-damp hair, her hips twisting on the sheets after he rolls her onto her back and leans over her, now kissing and nipping his way down her belly. Her eyes close and she spreads her thighs for him without any hesitation, as she’s fairly certain what his current goal is.

“Loki,” she purrs, and she can feel his smile against her flesh.

He takes his time nosing through the damp fur, pleased at how warm and receptive his pet is to his kisses. The rich flavor of her sex spurs Loki on, and he slips his tongue along the seam, the slickness there far better than any other dessert. The wriggle of his pet’s hips urges him on, and Loki concentrates, pressing apart the glossy lips all the better to tease her.

It’s a secret pleasure, this ability to drive Star over the edge of her desire. Loki likes the control, the opportunity to sense the change of her breathing, the tightness of her thighs as they press against his shoulders. If they had more time he would build and slow, tease and play, but not now. Instead he slows his licking, letting the heat and weight of his tongue settle into an unstoppable stroke even as she winds her fingers into his hair.

Her back stiffens and her toes curl, writhing underneath Loki as he laps at her, suckles on her. Heat speeds through her, starting deep inside her and then engulfing her from soles to crown, leaving her gasping and limp on the sheets. She’s vaguely aware of Loki continuing to press light kisses to her flesh, along the lips of her sex, the inside of her thighs, but he waits for her to catch her breath before he slides up next to her and kisses her. She can taste the tang of herself on his mouth.

She wonders if he’d let her return the favour first. She kisses him harder and slides a hand between them, letting it follow the thickening line of dark hair leading down to his shaft.

Loki indulges in her caress, but slowly pulls her fingers from his veiny shaft a few minutes later and holds her gaze. “Do we . . . proceed?” he purrs, pleased at the way his pet looks in the afternoon light: relaxed and downright seductive. It makes him throb, and that in turn makes her giggle even as her fingers toy with the pearly smear along the head of his cock.

“OK,” she agrees, and then hesitates. “How do you want to do this?”

“Ohhhh my sweet pet,” Loki smirks, “Roll over.”

When she does, slowly, he strokes her back and leans down to whisper in her ear. “Now to kiss you. There is no part of you, Star, that is less than lovely and arousing to me, including the little rose of your ass. I suspect you do not believe that, but I’m going to prove it.”

Loki reverses himself, stuffs a few pillows under his pet’s hips, and begins to kiss her spine. He moves slowly, letting his lips and hair tease the soft warm skin under him, and adds lingering sweeps of his tongue to the caresses. Star squirms of course, giggling now and then in her nervousness but she remains relaxed for the most part. 

He moves his kisses over the sweet hills of her ass, adding a nip or two to those peachy globes. They’re lovely and firm, only faintly striped now, and warm. After a while, he reaches for the stone jar on the nightstand, moving deliberately, and speaking over his shoulder. “I am going to use some of the Notyr. Still comfortable?”

She makes an affirmative sound half muffled against her arm, and Loki laughs. 

The oil is slightly warm and although it is thick in the jar it becomes much more liquid on his fingers. Loki rubs it between Star’s thighs, teasing them apart, and making his touch glide lightly over the seam of her sex. She parts her legs, only a little at first and then more widely, giving him easy access to her body. Carefully Loki dribbles some of it down the cleft of her ass, letting it trickle down and warm the skin before following it with an index finger.

The globes of her ass part and he strokes, his touch made easier by the Notyr. His fingers glide between her cheeks and Loki moves slowly, letting his pet get familiar with the sensation of being touched in so private a place. His own desire grows as he does so; Star’s hips roll a bit in response to his touch, and when his fingers slide ever so lightly across the pucker deep within, she gives a surprised groan.

“Is that all right?” Loki asks, fairly sure that it is.

“Oh, y-yes,” Star whimpers. She shifts against the pillows, digs her fingernails deep into the duvet. Her face heats with a blush, though. It’s not so easy to undo all the years of being told that this is wrong and dirty . . .

But it feels so _right_.

“Good girl. Beautiful girl,” Loki assures her. “You’re very responsive, which is a delight to me.” As he speaks he lets his fingers circle her pucker, moving gently along the sensitive flesh and spreading the oil thickly. Loki feels a surge of tenderness along with lust; his pet is so trusting even through her own trepidation, and it’s clear that once she relaxes she may well be a natural for this.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Loki warns, and before his pet can do more than squeak, he does so, letting himself flick his tongue over the sensitive little ridges. Star writhes, and the sounds she makes are definitely encouraging.

She barely recognizes the noises coming out of her. Wetness drips down between her thighs, and she’s fairly sure it’s not just the Notyr. Loki kisses her again, slowly, and she gasps, muscles tightening all over her body. “Oh God-” How can that feel so fucking _good_? “You’re good at this,” she moans. “I may just have to _keep_ you,” she adds as a joke.

“Yes,” Loki agrees, and moves his face across one cheek to nip it before returning to kiss her again. He’s glad he’s had experience with this because his lust is simmering nicely now, heated by his pet’s responsiveness. There is something so primitive about kissing her this way, something Loki knows is beyond what his brother would ever do with a lover. Carefully he lets his tongue slide into the hot silken pucker.

Star groans this time, a full-on groan that makes his cock throb. Loki thrusts his tongue again, the move slippery and fun as his pet wriggles again. The challenge is in teasing her into urging him on, and staying in control at the same time, and by the sounds his pet is making, it won’t take too much more.

“Oh God, _Loki_ ,” she gasps, unable to lie still. She can’t believe what he’s _doing_ , or how insanely perfect it feels. Slickness, darting heat, inside her, driving her insane, and she adores every moment.

She can swear that she can feel each of his individual fingertips pressing into her ass, holding her cheeks wide apart as his tongue slips wetly in and out of her. “Please,” she begs between groans, hips rocking back against him. She doesn’t even realize what she’s saying, not really. 

He pulls back a moment, murmuring, “Ready for a little more?” Her low gasp seems to be affirmative, so Loki lets his index finger press against her pucker. There’s a moment of resistance, and then his finger slides in to the first joint, slick and snug. Loki lets her get used to the feel, but it doesn’t take long before his pet is urging for more.

Loki lets his finger slide deeper as he nibbles and kisses her rounded cheeks again, and the ease with which it moves lets him know that the wine and foreplay are doing their job in making matters much easier. Several strokes later he’s using two fingers, and finally three, taking care to move slowly.

The very sight of his fingers moving into her is painfully arousing and Loki grinds against his pet’s hip, trying not to dribble too much. Scent and taste have him feeling intensely horny now, and to calm himself he adds more Notyr, slathering it lavishly.

Noise continues to spill out of her, almost on its own, and her hips continue to rock back and forth, helping Loki impale her on those long fingers. She abruptly becomes aware of his arousal, pressed hard and hot into her side, and she reaches down to touch and stroke him, tracing the thick veins with a gentle scrape of her nails. 

It’s his turn to groan, pushing himself into her hand, but she doesn’t break his focus; his fingers move in such a way as to carefully _stretch_ her, open her, and she moans deep in her throat, her hand shuddering to a stop as her mind is assaulted by pleasure.

Loki grits his teeth, trying to keep his focus on what he’s doing over what he’s _feeling_. Star’s little tease feels wonderful but if he indulges himself matters may well be over before they start and that would be unfair all around. He whispers to her, “I think you’re a wicked pet and I want you very much . . .”

The sound she makes--half giggle, half moan--is precisely what he wants to hear, and Loki shifts, moving himself to the center of the mattress and pulling her over him. She looks confused, but he smirks up at her, holding her gaze. “This way first--you have the choice of how fast and how deep. Gods, you’re beautiful.”

To her credit, his pet understands and rises on her knees, reaching between her thighs to guide his shaft, and when the head of it presses against that dusky rose pucker Loki draws in a sigh. Star lets it rest there a long moment and then lowers herself ever so slightly, allowing him to breach her. She hisses, freezing and Loki holds her hips, letting her get used to the sensation. He knows the Notyr is helping, and after long moments Star relaxes a little, shooting him a bright-eyed, smutty look.

“I thought you might like it,” he replies. When she bends her knees and takes more of him in, Loki hisses, the pleasure threatening to set him off like a rocket. It’s only a few inches, but damnable tight slick squeeze is making his pulse race, and he knows he looks dazed.

Star takes a deep breath and tries to relax, to take him in even further. It’s a _challenge_ , he’s not exactly small, and the _stretch_ is somewhere between pleasure and discomfort, but it feels so damned good still. Nerve endings she never realized she had are firing off in response to this intimate caress, making her groan low in her throat as her head falls back on her neck. 

Loki makes a sound deep in his chest, and she looks at him. His eyes are glazed and he’s smiling sweetly up at her, making her heart skip a beat for an entirely different reason than the sexual act they’re performing. 

Slowly, Star pushes herself down, pausing every now and then to let her anatomy adjust, until she feels she’s reached her limit. He’s so hard, and hot. _Hot? And he’s supposed to be a Frost Giant? Yeah, I don’t think his cock got_ that _memo._ “Christ, you’re . . . _long_.” she moans. “I don’t think I can take in any more-” 

Loki grips her hips more tightly, his expression strained. “I don’t think _I_ can either,” comes his rumble, and he feels hot and cold shivers running through him now. His pet, smiling down at him, _impaled_ on his aching cock; if he lifts his head a little he can see between her legs, her lovely cleft through her fur and under that, his shaft slowly sliding into her ass. It’s so very primitive, slick and glistening with Notyr, and the wet sounds of their bodies joining are like sweet nails trailing on his skin. She has her hands on his chest, leveraging herself and it’s a struggle not to thrust even though every cell in his body is _demanding_ he do so.

“Love, I must . . . move,” Loki grunts, and licks his lips, waiting for permission in a haze of raw lust.

She mentally readies herself. “OK, just...not too rough, please?” She can’t help tensing up, just a little. He’s big, and she feels so _full._ Can she handle it if he moves? Looks like she’s going to find out, right. about. NOW.

Loki pushes forward slowly, and rocks back, his hands braced on Star’s hips. The movement is small, but oh-so-sensual; fucking by inches and the sensations make him shudder with bliss. It won’t take much to set him off, so he concentrates on being very gentle. By the expression on Star’s face it seems to be just as pleasurable to her, and she wriggles a bit, her hips rocking with his, the movements small and deliberate.

“Gods,” he gasps again, his breathing ragged.

Now that Star is starting to get used to the feelings, she becomes aware of other sensations as well: she’s _very_ wet, her clit pulsing with need. She can’t stand it anymore; it feels so _good_ but she’s not sure she can come this way. She braces one hand more firmly on Loki’s shoulder and brings the other hand to her nub, rubbing it gently. No doubt he’ll enjoy the show, too, if she has learned anything about him at all.

Her muscles tense up, tightening around him, their groans coming in concert now, heat rushing through her as she pants for breath and looks up at him again-

He bites his lower lip, eyes locking with hers and within a minute feels Star climax, _hard_ , her small frame wracking with shudders, each spasm squeezing his cock and making Loki cry out, his voice low and ragged as wave after wave of searing pleasure rushes through him. He feels himself fountain deep within his pet with every thrust.

Finally Loki slows, his hands holding Star’s hips as he regains his focus. She’s completely relaxed, slumping against him, and Loki shifts her so that his softening prick slides out to lie against his thigh. Carefully he brings his face to hers, studying her expression. “Little valkyrie, that was quite a ride!” Loki teases. “Your master thanks you!”

Star snorts and wraps her arms around his neck. “Ride? That’s one word for it, yes. You’re welcome, _stallion_ ,” she jokes. “Seriously, I should thank YOU. That was . . . amazing and mind-blowing and hot as hell _combined_ doesn’t begin to cover it.” She snuggles up against his chest. “I’m glad to have some much better memories to associate with _that_ act now.”

Absently, she toys with the string of emeralds still around her neck. She supposes they will have to address the topic of her usual collar at some point, but not right now. At the moment she just wants to press skin-to-skin and hold tightly to him. She wishes she never had to let him go.

Loki sighs and kisses her forehead. “Not to frighten you, but there may be some blood, and certainly you shall be sore for a bit; let us bathe and I will heal any minor tears that you may have. If you are a good girl, someday I will let you have _me_ in the same manner.”

Her stunned look makes him smirk, and he adds, “Believe me, the pleasure for a male can be just as intense.”

There is a trace of blood; nothing major, and Loki runs his fingers along her damp little pucker, concentrating his magic to mend the tiny injuries. After another shower he wraps his pet in a towel and carries her back to the bed, now clean and remade. “Sleep,” Loki tells her. “When you wake you shall be back on the table at the spa.”

Star bites her lip and catches at his wrist. “Will you . . . stay with me until I fall asleep?” It’s total romance novel bullshit, of course. But she wants him to be physically close to her for as long as she can have that. She already misses him, and he hasn’t even left her alone yet! 

_ Fuck, I’m  _ so _screwed._ How the hell she’ll be able to go back to her normal life and _act_ normal, she has no clue. 

Loki settles her on the bed and joins her, curling himself around his pet’s small form, and kissing her shoulder. “Of course. Our time together has been . . . very special to me, and I am loathe to leave you.” He runs a hand along the necklace at her throat and it disappears under his fingers. “There. Until we are reunited, I will hold _these_ for you as well. Soon you will have an entire collection of collars to choose from, beloved,” he teases, and wraps a long, strong arm around her waist, settling in as outside the suite, the rustle of palms and the soft cries of seagulls lull them both to sleep.

\--oo00oo--

When Star wakes, just as he promised, she’s back in the spa. Alone. She sighs and makes her way out to the locker room. “Did you enjoy your massage?” the receptionist asks as Star hands over her credit card. 

“Oh yes,” Star smirks. “It was very . . . stimulating, yet relaxing.”

She makes it to daycare with plenty of time to pick up her daughter before closing, and she manages to make it through the rest of the day with hubby only commenting once on how preoccupied she seems.

Star tells him she’s thinking up a new fanfiction story, and he smiles knowingly and leaves her to think. That’s a relief.

She knew this would be difficult, balancing what is almost effectively two lives, two selves, and having her time with Loki bleed into this life is a bad, bad idea, but something about this latest encounter has really wrapped itself around her brain.

To shake it, she waits until hubby is asleep, then goes to rummage in her underwear drawer. Maybe if she just touches the collar, holds it in her hands for a second that will make her feel better. Or maybe it won’t, but it’s worth a try.

She searches under and around the messily-folded items, then in each corner of the drawer, but the collar is gone.

There’s a second of panic, but then Star decides Loki must have taken it. He did say he would hold ‘them’ for her, right? She’d thought he meant merely the string of emeralds, but probably he meant both collars. Besides, hubby would’ve said something if he’d found it, not that he has ever made it his business to go through her drawers. Well, _one_ set of drawers, anyway. 

Star takes a deep breath and closes the drawer. There’s nothing else she can do except try to maintain both lives. Her family needs her, and Loki, as much as she suspects she’s falling for him, hard, is never going to be there for her 24/7 the way she would need him to be, assuming he’d even want something other than this sexual relationship. The only way she can have the best of both worlds is to keep up both selves. 

As challenging as that may be.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something nasty comes after Star; Loki gets to enjoy more of his second-favourite Midgardian thing – chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Marvel owns Loki. Though can they really own a mythological character? I wonder…
> 
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> Banner made by **cincoflex**!

He is concerned. In the course of his time, Loki has the capacity to look in on his pet, and does. It’s not spying, per se--he doesn’t watch her when she’s with her family, or in situations that require privacy, but now and again he finds himself needing to simply see her and know she is all right.

But three times now, he has watched her, and noted that someone else seems to be watching her as well. Once would be a coincidence, and twice something to make note of, but when the same figure appears in the background a third time, Loki feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

This is no co-worker or associate. This figure stays right on the periphery of his pet’s daily commute and while he might be going the same route, his stealthy focus is clearly on Star.

\--oo00oo--

Star massages the back of her neck and squints tiredly at her computer screen. She’s about twelve lectures into preparing her new course for next term. _Only another eighteen to go,_ she reminds herself unhappily. _Gods, this is taking forever._

She tries to convince herself that it’ll be worth it once she’s all done. Finally she’ll be teaching something she actually was trained in!

Star starts to reach for her textbook when there’s a knock at her office door. Actually, it’s more like a loud _rapping_ , abrupt enough to make her jump in her seat.

She smirks and shakes her head - seen one too many horror films there, haven’t we? - and gets up to see who it could be. It’s near the end of summer vacation and there’s hardly anybody around, but the occasional person still manages get themselves lost in this confusing old building that used to be a convent back in the day.

But when Star opens the door . . . nobody is there. She frowns and glances up and down the boring beige hallway. Nothing.

She shrugs and shuts the door again, walking back across the office to her computer. This would be why she prefers to work here in the summer, when there are few to no distractions. She’s just settled in once more when the loud knocking comes again. “What the _fuck?_ ” she mutters, starting to get annoyed.

Again, she opens the door and the hallway is utterly dead. This time she actually walks out of the office and down the hall a little, checking in both directions, but there’s still nothing to see.

_ Jesus H. Christ.  _ “Some people are trying to get work done here!” She snaps loudly. “Don’t make me call Security!”

Only silence answers her, and Star shakes her head and goes back into her office. 

She shuts the door, starting to walk back to her computer yet again-

BANG! BANG! BANG! This time the raps are so loud that the door shudders in its frame. Star jumps back and claps her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream, the noise ringing in her ears. How the hell did whoever it is get there so _fast_? She hadn’t even heard the sound of running feet-

The banging continues, a slow predictable rhythm that has her shrinking back towards her desk. She fumbles for the phone, dialling security’s number with shaking fingers, but there’s no answer.

“Fuck!” she whispers as it rings and rings hollowly in her ear. “C’mon, _somebody_.” The door shudders with each blow, and though it seems to be holding solid, the knocks are getting faster and louder until Star wants to shriek.

The racket stops abruptly, leaving her in ringing silence. 

She drops the phone into its cradle, resisting the urge to go and peek out the door - again, she’s a veteran of too many horror film viewings. Instead she waits. And waits.

After what feels like forever but is likely only about ten minutes, she finally goes to the door, struggling to open it. The frame has been warped. _I didn’t imagine it,_ she thinks. It’s not much of a relief. 

_ The fuck _ was _that?_ She closes the office door quietly behind her and walks quickly to the nearest stairway, scrambling down it, heading for the security desk.

There’s nobody there. “That’s impossible,” she says out loud, too taken aback to care about how crazy she must look, standing here talking to herself. “There’s _always_ someone he-”

A low but unmistakable growl rolls from the hallway in front of her. Star turns slowly, barely managing to hold her ground as her adrenalin spikes, but there’s still nothing to see. It’s between her and the main door, though, that she’s sure of. The only safe place is-

Back at her office. 

She backs up gradually, eyes fixed on the empty air where the growl seems to be coming from, pulling her keys from her pocket as she does so. Two more slow steps back, and then she’ll run up the stairs.

Star gathers herself, then shoves through the double-doors as fast as possible, racing up as fast as she can, until her knees ache and her lungs burn, her loud breathing covered all other noises.

_ It’s on me, it’s going to get me, oh shit- _

But it’s not - it’s taking its time, whatever it is - and she makes it to her office door in one piece, fumbling with her keys and listening to the growl getting louder, coming closer. She doesn’t dare look over her shoulder, she’s pretty sure there’s still nothing to see. The key rattles into the lock and then sticks, and she curses. Then the lock gives but the doorframe sticks, and she whimpers, almost feeling hot breath on her cheek. But she manages to yank the door open and races in, slamming it shut behind her with all her strength.

Of course the banging starts on the door again, and without any other options Star fumbles for the phone, teeth set against a scream. “Please, God, somebody help me,” she’s muttering frantically, the receiver falling out of her shaky fingers and hitting the floor.

She’s scrabbling to pick it up when the door splinters right down the middle and flies halfway into the room in two jagged pieces. Star can’t see anything coming for her but she screams anyway, even as she grabs her stapler from the desk and hurls it towards the growls with all her pitiful strength.

The room fills up with a blinding light-

Loki stands braced, facing the doorway. He holds one hand up, ready to shift power through it, and when the red eyes of the beast meet his, he feels himself grin mercilessly.

“Kveldulf!” Loki calls, letting the power build along the ley-line of his shoulder. “Back off, mewling cub, or die; it’s all the same to me today!”

The monster hesitates, gaze taking in this unexpected complication. The yellowing fangs bare in a snarl, and sickly yellow drool drips from the werewolf’s jaws to the carpet, burning holes in it. “Lokkkkkii,” comes the guttural growl. “Move away.”

“I think not,” Loki replies, and sends a blast of green energy crackling through the air. It hits Kveldulf on the shoulder; instantly the sickening stench of burnt fur and cooked meat rise up. The beast shudders, whimpering for a moment, ears back in hate.

“Misbegotten cast-off of Laufey’s line! I will drink your cold blood!” The were launches its massive bulk forward with impressive speed, jaws snapping with bone-crunching power. Loki spins out of the way, using one boot to push Star further under the desk, and turns, sending another green bolt of sizzling energy towards the beast. This shot sears across it’s misshapen flank and severs the spine; the beast Kveldulf collapses, its howl sucked away in breathless agony.

Star watches, wide-eyed; it’s pretty impressive watching Loki fight (what she can see while crouched under a desk, that is) . . . especially when he looks like he’s fighting _nothing._

Then there’s a ripple in the air and she can finally see the thing. She takes one look and wishes she hadn’t. Loki strides over to its broken form, and Star stands slowly, moving cautiously up behind Loki as the half-dead thing snarls and moans.   

“Dude,” she can’t help saying to it, “You _fugly_.” She shakes her head and looks over at Loki. “Friend of yours?” she asks, trying to control the tremble of her hands.

Loki shoots her a quick smile, and then reaches down to grab one long pointed ear, twisting it. “Why? Tell me why and you will have a quick death.”

There’s a string of horrible snarls and broken words, but Loki hears enough. He lets the power build once more then thrusts a palm against the beast’s temple; the explosion is soundless, but the flash of light dazzles in every color possible. When it fades the monster is gone although ash floats in the air. Loki wipes his palm along one thigh and draws a breath, trying to control his temper.

“We must leave,” he tells Star. “Now.” Loki knows his voice sounds harsh and that his tone probably alarms her, but the sooner they leave the better. Kveldulf is dead, but the threat remains, and he has no intention of leaving his precious pet in harm’s way. Carefully he pulls Star into his embrace, letting her hug him tightly.

They vanish.

\--oo00oo--

They re-materialize in Loki’s hall, which is just fine by Star. A pocket in space and time created by him seems a pretty safe place to hide.

He starts to release his grip on her, but she finds herself unable to let go of him. “Sorry, uh, I just, need a second, here-” she stutters. She’s trembling from head to toe. 

“Shhhhh,” Loki tells her, well-aware of the effects of shock. His pet is certainly not used to violence, particularly that involving creatures of death and destruction, like the weres. He holds her, keeping her close even as he considers who might have sent Kveldulf after her.

And why.

Still, his body, full of adrenaline and desire responds to Star’s, and he slides a hand to her ass, pulling her closer still against him. She may be angry about it, but Loki prefers acknowledging what he is, which is most definitely . . . aroused. A common reaction after battle and one often denied any release.

“You feel very nice,” he murmurs against the crown of her head, smiling a bit. Star’s hands are wrapped tightly around him, and even if she doesn’t realize it, her hips are rocking ever so slightly against his.

“And you feel very . . . _hard_ ,” she notes, smirking up at him though she’s still trembling, if less. Then her eyes narrow slightly and she traces a finger down the leather strap that wraps diagonally across his chest from the shoulder-piece of his armour. “Is that the strap you, ahem, used on me the other day?”

“It is,” Loki admits with a dimpled smile. “I wear it with no small amount of personal pride, although the flavor is gone.” His words make her mouth draw into a knowing smile, and Loki picks her up, carrying her to the bed.

Ghost hands make short work of her clothing, and when she manages to look up at him, Loki has twinned himself, both of them smirking down at her. “Choose,” one tells her. “If you are right, then we both will have you. If you are wrong . . .” They both touch the straps along their chests, the meaning clear.

Star can’t help herself; she laughs uproariously. The two Lokis blink at her, confused. “Yeah, right,” she explains. “Like you aren’t going to make it so that whichever one of you I choose, you get the outcome you want. Your little game is _rigged,_ my dearest Lord, as befits the trickster god. Of that I have absolutely no doubt.”

Both of them are watching her, eyes narrowed, obviously deciding how to react to her little pronouncement. Before either of them can get a word in, Star crawls slowly up the bed towards them both, with her most sultry slink. “And what if I choose _both_ of you, hmmm?” she asks, smiling up at them. “Is that an option, my dark Princes?” She looks up under her lashes at them both.

“Only if you lose,” they both remind her, and move to the sides of the bed, reaching down. One strokes her spine and the other her hair, both of them looking amused. “Why is it that you have no courses?” one asks her.

“Yes I have wondered that too,” the other murmurs. “You are young and clearly fertile, pet.”

She smirks and looks from one to the other. “Not _that_ young, sadly. Well, maybe compared to you, I guess. If you mean my period, yes, I still get those. We have medicines to stop one’s cycle, but I can’t take them.” She raises a brow at them, leaning into their touch. “What, you mean you didn’t _plan_ to come get me when I was, erm, ‘open to the public’? That you’ve just gotten lucky so far?” She giggles.    
Then she frowns. “Hey, wait a minute-- I thought you said I’d get both of you if I _WON_.” Her eyes narrow. “Changing the rules mid-stream? What a tease you are, my Lord.”

“Our prerogative,” both Lokis purr at her. “Silver tongues are not always straight tongues.”

One Loki begins a slow striptease, flinging his clothing off in deliberately provocative moves. The other watches along with Star, amused at her reaction to it all. When the newly bared Loki is done, he leans over the bed and kisses the other Loki.

Star giggles again. “‘Straight’? No, apparently not.” She watches the two of them, squirming impatiently. When it becomes obvious that they are ignoring her, she pouts and moves to the edge of the bed, sliding one hand along each of their rears - one bare, one clothed. Both are very nice to touch, however, in her humble opinion.

They break apart and gaze down at her, the matching grins amused. “Loving one’s self is a private pleasure,” the clothed Loki admits, “but loving _you_ is much better.”

Nude Loki helps undress clothed Loki until it’s impossible to tell them apart. They pull Star up between them, each kissing a different side of her neck.

Star groans softly and wraps her arms around them, sandwiching herself between their hard, warm bodies. “This is turning out to be _such_ an interesting day. First I get attacked by a . . . hairball on ‘roids, and now I am getting attacked in a different way by two hot gods of Mischief. Didn’t see that coming.” She giggles again and turns her head to kiss the Loki on her right.

“Shhh,” one of them murmurs. “Needs.”

They draw her down to the mattress, pressing close on either side of their pet. Loki likes being able to use this second self this way; to caress and love his pet with another body. Clearly she seems pleased with it as well, toying with each of them in turn, until he pulls her into a deep kiss, taking her full attention.

“You need something to soothe you,” he tells her, and it’s easy to shift after that. He makes his twin lie down, then lays Star on top of him, both of them facing up. 

She looks up at him with mock suspicion. “What are you up to _now_?” Smirking, she turns her head and addresses the Loki underneath her. “Do you know what he’s up to? I don’t have a clue. Hi there, how are you? Come here often, handsome?” she jokes conversationally to Loki-underneath-her, as if the Loki kneeling on the bed isn’t even there. 

The one under her flexes his hips, and the tip of his shaft slides along her cleft, seeking entrance. The Loki kneeling guides his twin’s shaft in, and then bends to kiss Star’s mound, his breath warm against her fur.

She gasps loudly at the invasion, then moans. “Ho- _ly_. . .” _Yeah, that about covers it._ Her hips shift of their own accord, letting him in deeper, and her breath catches in her throat as the other Loki’s lips brush delicately across her nub. 

It’s slow. Deliberately so. Loki underneath has his hands around her hips, rocking gently into Star, his thick shaft stroking deep and rubbing that front wall inside of her while the kneeling Loki makes it a point to lick around that moving shaft, his tongue gliding in teasing counterpoint, and sliding over her little button at unexpected moments. The beauty, Loki knows, is that the rhythm is perfect since they ARE the same being. Star writhes, trying to brace her heels outside under-Loki’s legs, but they want to wrap around kneeling Loki, he can tell.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” she’s gasping. It’s not original but it conveys the point. Her hands scrabble aimlessly on the sheets, clutching for something, anything. Any _one_ , to keep her from sliding off and losing herself completely. Her muscles tense, squeezing tightly, sweet pulses of energy gathering inside her, building until she can’t see or hear or think or feel anything else. 

Then Loki under her shifts his hands and lets his fingers lightly pinch her stiff nipples, tweaking them with ruthlessness.

She arches like a bow, head pressing hard into his shoulder as a loud cry falls from her lips, surrendering. “Oh . . . my . . . god,” she pants once more for good measure, slumping down on top of Loki-underneath. She wants to reach, to touch them, to give them something back of what they gave her, but no, her body doesn’t want to _move_.

Neither Loki speaks; the one inside her comes _hard_ , the heat of his semen warm inside her. The Loki between her knees rises up and roughly strokes himself, letting his climax spray across his own stomach in a splatter that looks like a crown. It drips, and he grins, running his wet palm over it and chuckling.

“In _and_ out--I’ve never done that before, my pet. You are more than any one god can handle, I see.”

Star gasps a weak laugh. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? The two of you almost killed me - with _pleasure_. Mere mortals weren’t built to handle that!” She laughs again, trying to sit up.

Loki under her helps, letting his softening shaft slide out. “You were built for pleasure--to give it and receive it. Consider it your private vocation, oh little minx of mine.”

Ghost hands bring hot, damp towels and the two Lokis clean themselves, then share the duty when attending Star. When done, the hands carry the towels away, and both Lokis settle around Star, bookends keeping her warm and safe.

She purrs under her breath, arms looped around one solid body, her back and ass pressed firmly into another. She’s relaxed and sated and safe . . . so safe . . .then her eyes snap open as she remembers why she might _not_ feel safe.

She wriggles until the Lokis allow her to sit up. “Uh, when we’re done here, will I be able to go home?” she asks them, her hands tangling together anxiously in her lap. 

One of the Lokis sits up with her; the other merely reaches to stroke her back. “You will always be able to go home,” he assures her, “but in this case, I need to make matters safe for you to do so. It was not mere chance that made you the target of a were, unfortunately.”

Star has to laugh at that, humourlessly. She glares at Loki like he’s lost his mind. “Me, a target? Why? Unless I flunked that monster’s kid in one of my classes, what reason could it possibly have to-” She freezes, hand pressed to her mouth. _Oh crap,_ my _kid-_

She scrambles out from between them and off the bed, searching for her clothes. “You need to take me back right now,” she babbles, shaking all over again. “Something might be coming after my daughter-” Or husband, though she doubts Loki will jump so quickly to _his_ defense.

“Your child and husband are not the targets, pet; you are,” Loki tells her quietly. “Ever since we have been together, my essence, my cosmic imprint has permeated yours. As long as we are associated, that link will last, and unfortunately be apparent to anyone using magic to track me. I should have cloaked you from the start.”

One Loki rises up and beckons the other, who steps over and _into_ the first, blending perfectly. He makes a complicated design in the air and Star sees within it a glimpse of her daughter and husband. Loki speaks. “They are shielded now in an aegis of magic that will last as long as we are lovers.”

Her shoulders slumping with relief, Star goes to sit on the carpet at the foot of the bed. Leaning her back against the footboard, she pulls her knees up to her chest and presses the palms of her hands to her eyes, exhaling slowly. 

She can feel warmth against her side as Loki settles next to her. “Thank you, Loki. I suppose you’ll do something similar to protect me?” she asks. “I’d like to avoid anything like that again. No offense - because I appreciate you rescuing me, I really _do_ \- but you did cut it kind of close. Two more milliseconds and I would’ve had to resort to throwing pens. I know the pen is mightier than the sword, _but_. . .” she adds, trying to lighten her own mood.

He leans towards her, trying hard to keep his expression gentle, but the melancholy rises within him as Loki speaks. “I _can_ protect you; hide you from the sight of anyone with magic, yes, but . . . if you would rather break our bond, I would understand. There will always be a degree of danger in being with me, and while I can minimize the risk, it _will_ exist, regardless.” It is painful to say it aloud, but his pet has always been bluntly honest with him, and he would prefer to return the favor.

Star takes another deep breath and lets her hands drop from her face, wrapping one around his hand. “No, I don’t want to break up with you. Let’s face it, there are no guarantees. We could end this, and then I get hit by a bus and die in a week. We mortals learn pretty quickly that you can’t _live_ your life if you make every decision as if you expect death will fall on you at any moment.” 

She shakes her head, then leans up to kiss him. “As long as you promise to do your best to make sure neither my family nor myself gets hurt, then I don’t see any reason to end this. You may be the God of Lies, but if you make me that promise, I _will_ believe you.”

He grins, feeling relief bloom in his chest, and although Loki tries to hide it a second later, he suspects his pet knows full well his emotions. “Well then, I believe a few formalities are in order. First of all . . .” Loki runs a finger around Star’s throat and where his touch passes, her collar settles into place. “A well-dressed pet is the rule. And well-dressed _also_ means . . .” Loki waves her in the direction of a wooden screen on the other side of the bed. “. . . You should make a choice. I have a small matter to deal with and shall be back momentarily, little charmer.” With that he disappears, and like the Cheshire cat, his grin is that last part of him to vanish.

She blinks at his abrupt exit. “Um, sure, OK?” she says to the empty hall. Star traces a fingertip over the jade stones at her throat as she climbs to her feet. “So _that’s_ where that went,” she says to herself. “I thought so.”

She wanders around to the other side of the screen, not surprised to see the sets of lingerie they bought at Très Méchante hanging neatly from it. The only one she hasn’t worn yet is the black lace bodysuit, which covers her from her toes to just below the tops of her shoulders. It looks pretty good on her, in her humble opinion.

Star returns to the middle of the room, wondering what to do with herself until Loki gets back. Too bad she doesn’t have her laptop, or she’d write something. The thought makes her smile.

She decides to take the opportunity to look around Loki’s hall.

There’s one wall lined with bookshelves, but every title she sees is written in runes. So much for _that_ idea.

Next she checks out the ancient wooden chest against the opposite wall. It turns out to be full of potions in a range of different colours, and scrolls inscribed with writing similar to that on the spines of the books. She remembers enough from her Dungeons and Dragons days to realize she’s best off not touching _anything_ , though she smirks as she ponders how many of these potions are, or will be, part of Loki’s sexual unguent repertoire.

There’s also a wall of daggers, a few staves, and one short sword that catches her eye. Star picks up one of each, swinging them experimentally, though carefully. _Eh, I’ll stick to Vale Tudo!_

Then there’s the wooden night table next to the bed. Star smiles at the top drawer full of odds and ends - she’s got a drawer much like that at home - a dulled blade here, a rough uncut gem there, coins of various types, even a few Midgardian ones. . . 

Then she sees it. A collar, exquisite silver filigree set with several small emeralds, the clasp bent as if it had been torn off. Curious, she holds it to her own throat. It’s too big. 

Is it even a woman’s collar? Could this be _his_ collar? The one he wore for Angr-whatshername? Pensively, Star tucks it back away and sits down on his bed to wait.

Loki returns five minutes later, smiling, but there are burn marks on the leather of his armor, and soot along his hands and face. He makes an attempt to wipe them away, finally letting the ghostly hands clean them. “Yes, that’s fine, thank you,” Loki grumbles at them, standing still in irritation as they wash his face. He looks like a little boy in that moment, and hopes Star doesn’t laugh.

She hides her smile behind her hand. “What the heck have you been up to? Battling a _dragon_? You officially have the weirdest hobbies, Loki.”

He gives her a look, wondering when Star will realize he’s been following up on the were. The scent of pine and tar hang heavy on him along with the soot, which should be a clear indication that he’s been deep in a forest. Still, it’s charming to return to his haven and find her waiting for him, particularly in the garb she’s _almost_ wearing. The lace suits her very well, and highlights her sweet little form in a way that arouses Loki.

“I’ve been insuring your safety,” he replies. “And would have brought you a fur robe, but what hide was _left_ of the beast was rather singed.” Loki doesn’t mention that the entire cave had been fire-blasted, clearing out not only the other were, but melting down the gold he’d been given to take on the assassination. Better to leave Star ignorant of it all. “Although the little fur you wear is always enticing.” 

Star chuckles and blushes. “I think I’ll stick with my ‘fur’, thank you very much.” Then the rest of what he said sinks in. “Are you OK?” she asks worriedly, moving to the edge of the mattress to take a closer look at him. “You look about halfway between ‘well-done’ and ‘charcoal’. How exactly were you ‘insuring my safety’? _Spill_.” 

“I  . . . eliminated the threat,” Loki admits, slipping his arms around her and lifting her up--not a difficult thing to do. “And I’m unhurt, merely a bit sooty. The two weres are dead, and I’ve sent a clear message that I and mine are not worth whatever price might be offered. A small matter, I assure you. Now, have you an appetite, or are you interested in other matters?”

His expression is closed, and Star can tell he’s not going to give her any further details. Not that she’s so sure she wants any. “I could do with a snack,” she agrees. “Something tells me I’m going to need the energy,” she observes, winding her arms around his neck. 

“Yes,” Loki assures her, finally smiling himself, “You will.”

The dining table holds a selection of cheeses and sliced meats along with fragrant loaves of bread and various little pots of condiments and garnishes. Loki watches his pet make her choices, amused at how particular she is about her food. When it is his turn, he fills a plate and gives a sigh.

“Much magic is mine to command, but the ability to change this into chocolate is not yet possible,” he announces. “More’s the pity.”

The look his pet gives him is mockingly stern, and he dimples at her. “No fear--I shall never have the appetite nor girth of Volstagg. It’s not within my constitution. I prefer directing my attention to other hungers.”

Star rolls her eyes theatrically. “ _Tell_ me about it.” She lays a slice of cheese on a slice of bread. “You know,” she says thoughtfully, “if you gave me some advance warning somehow before one of your visits, I could _make_ you something with chocolate, have it ready for you.” She casts an assessing eye around Loki’s hall. “Though in a pinch, I could maybe throw together something here, though I would need to get creative. Never baked over an actual fire before,” she notes, taking a bite of her food. 

He’s certainly generous in many ways, she thinks, savouring her ‘snack’.

“You would _make_ something with chocolate?” Loki breathes, his gaze on her. “Oh that would be the _best_ of times, my minx. What _ever_ you would need I would fetch it. Is chocolate from a beast? I would hunt it. Does it grow under a sea? I would dive for it. Do you reap it, grind it, boil it? Does it require a flail or a spit? All yours to command if you need them.”

Star can’t help but laugh. She’s not sure which is more hilarious (and endearing), his eagerness or his ignorance. “It comes from a bean. But there’s no need to go searching for it -- any grocery store will have chocolate of some kind. Heck, _most_ stores have chocolate of some kind.” She smirks as an idea occurs to her. “Actually, I wouldn’t even need to make anything elaborate - though I would be happy to! - all I would need is a chocolate bar, some cream, an empty pot and a bowl, and we could have some . . . _fun_.” She winks lecherously at him.

Loki practically quivers, since the combination of chocolate and his beloved pet is almost too much for his senses. He stares down at his plate, not actually seeing it. “When we are done with our repast, we shall _go_ to one of these stores and acquire the needed items then. I feel that it would be . . . necessary.”

Star giggles at his expression. “As my Lord wishes,” she agrees with mock seriousness. “Though may I suggest that we change first into something more _appropriate_? I am likely to get arrested for public indecency while wearing this-” she motions to the see-through bodysuit. “And I imagine your armour will garner much attention as well.” She smirks and finishes her bread and cheese in three bites.

“Oh I can easily turn the eyes of mortals from our true appearance,” Loki assures her. “With my skill, no-one shall be the wiser and I will have the delight of seeing you just as you are. This,” he decides, “we shall do, yes.” 

Before his pet can do more than stare at him with her mouth open, he makes the pair of them vanish.

They arrive in an alley between two buildings, one of which seems to be a market. Loki has dressed himself in his suit, and looks to his pet, who is scurrying out of the alley quickly, trying to avoid something scuttling around the trash there.

Star isn’t too happy about wandering around all-but-naked like this, but thankfully nobody is staring. Knowing Loki, this is payback for laughing at him earlier, so damned if she’s going to give him the satisfaction. Holding her head high, she strides purposefully ahead of him into the market, though she does feel a little odd walking in bare feet. Well, lace-covered feet.

It doesn’t take long since she only really needs two ingredients. Luckily they have a decent quality of chocolate - Valrhona - and it’s easy enough to find heavy cream. She also decides to go for some vanilla extract. “OK,” she says to Loki, who is perusing the items on every shelf with great interest, especially in the ethnic foods section, “That’s all I need, I think. Unless we need to get a pot and bowl to go over your fire?”

Deliberately she stretches, watching Loki’s eyes rake down the length of her body. 

Loki smiles, aware of his pet’s tendency to flaunt herself. It’s part of her feckless charm, and the fact that she is holding the precious ingredients for chocolate makes it all the more amusing to him. He fishes out a single gold coin and passes it to her with a smirk. “Here--payment for the needed items. I have more, if more is needed.”

Apparently not, by her grin, but she also convinces him to remit it into currency that falls within Midgard parameters. Once outside Loki takes the strange crinkly bag from her and slides an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. “And now, home again,” he tells her, and they return in a flash of green and white light.

Star wastes no time asking the ghostly hands to bring her what she needs. Soon the cream is heating in a small round pot over the fire, and the pastilles of chocolate are sitting in the bowl waiting for their cream bath. She grins, amused at how Loki looms behind her, his impatience obvious. “Good things come to those who wait,” she informs him, eyes twinkling.

Once the cream is simmering Star instructs the ghostly hands to pour it over the chocolate in the bowl, and she uncaps the extract bottle while the chocolate softens. She can almost feel Loki’s warm breath on the back of her neck as she adds two sparing drops to the bowl, then starts to stir the contents together.

She’s soon left with a nice, pourable ganache. Perfect. “We’ll let it cool a little bit, and then-” she bats her eyelashes at Loki. “I think you’re a tad overdressed,” she observes, licking an accidental smear of chocolate from the side of her hand as she gets to her feet, reaching to tug on his tie.

“Easily remedied,” Loki sighs. “I could simply magic away my finery, but if we need time for our dessert, then perhaps you may want to disrobe me yourself. I know you are doing all of the cooking as well, but I promise you, little kitten mine, that I will repay your labors with serious in-ten-sity,” he offers. Loki knows it’s talent and effort spent on him and he will definitely return the favor, if Star wishes. For the moment, enjoying her hands on him is what he wants and hopes _she_ wants as well.

Her touch _always_ makes him harder, more aroused and aware of the lovemaking that is to come, literally.

“You’d better repay me,” she threatens, but playfully. “It’s not nice to mess with the Keeper of the Chocolate, _ice prince_.” She adds emphasis to the last two words, watching as Loki’s eyes narrow. He remembers the context of the last time she used that particular title with him, she can tell.

She smirks up at him, using his tie now to lead him. He resists for a moment, smiling devilishly at her, but then relents with a playful glint in his eyes too.

Loki allows her to guide him over to the side of the bed, both of them laughing after she gives him a hard shove, pushing him to sit on its edge. 

“Impatient, are we?” he asks, striving for innocence. It’s clear that his pet is relishing this little bit of authority over him, and Loki has no trouble allowing her to believe herself in charge. She flounces to straddle his lap, her clever fingers making quick work of the buttons on his vest and shirt, unwrapping him like a present.

As she does this, he weaves his fingers into the lace of her catsuit, enjoying the sensation of Star in the web of pretty thread. When she shifts he can see her stiff nipples rubbing and poking through, so he bends his head to nibble on them, earning a little squeak from her.

She sucks in a shuddery breath as he continues to tease and play, winding her fingers into inky strands of hair. As her thighs tighten along his hips, his laugh brushes against her prickling skin. _Oh yeah?_ She thinks. _Two can play_ this _game_.

Star caresses his jacket, shirt and vest free of his shoulders and arms but she leaves his tie still loosely knotted around his neck, mainly to amuse herself. She can feel his fingers sliding down her lower back and squeezing her rear end rhythmically, his fingertips finding and breaching holes in the lace to flirt with her skin. “Still this obsession with my ass?” she says with a laugh. “And here I thought you had your fill last time. Maybe you need some _therapy_.”

Star curtails his snarky reply by pulling him forward by the tie and kissing him forcefully. He moans before he can stop himself, tongue snaking around hers, and she can feel the heavy bulge of his excitement pressing into her belly.  
With an evil grin, she works the button of his fly and then lowers the zipper tooth by slow tooth. She brushes his hands off her and slides her legs down to the floor, reaching to pull down his dress pants. 

Then she has to laugh out loud, throwing her head back in sheer glee. “Snakeskin boxers?” she giggle-gasps. “The Norse God of Mischief wears _green snakeskin boxers_? That _has_ to make it into one of my stories.” She runs the palm of her hand over the hot, smooth curve tenting the front of those cute shorts, smirking at the sight of the head of his shaft peeping out from the waistband. Not for long; she weaves her fingers into the sides of said waistband and pulls those down as well.

“The serpent is certainly associated with me,” Loki attempts to regain a little dignity but it’s a losing battle, he senses. It’s difficult to seem serene when one’s trousers are down and a beautiful woman is caressing you. Still, he reaches a hand out to fondle a breast, and hide his smirk when Star tries to bat his touch away. “And as for having ‘enough’ of you--I sense that will not happen, pet. You are an enticing challenge still, if not always.”

Her look is doubtful, so he weaves a hand through her hair, pulling it gently to cock her head up, and holds her gaze with his. “When I chose you, I chose well, little, luscious hellcat.” It’s easy to press a kiss to her surprised mouth, and the nip of her teeth along his tongue feels right.

Loki considers simply ripping the catsuit off of her; it’s so very tempting to give in to a show of strength and possessiveness.

When she pulls back, she can tell that he wants to pounce on her. Star can read it from his flaring nostrils, quickened breaths and darkened eyes. She works quickly to divest him of the rest of his clothes -- except the tie. “Can’t forget the chocolate now, can we my Lord?” she reminds him in a rush, scrambling back out of range quickly as he makes a move to grab her. 

She tosses his clothes aside, and goes to retrieve the bowl, but she pauses on her way back to bed to admire his gorgeous nudity. Almost-nudity.

Then an absolutely _wicked_ idea occurs to her. Wouldn’t it be fun to stoke his fires? 

“Hands!” she calls out in her best imperious tone. As if reading her mind, four ghostly hands appear, hovering as they wait on her command. “Good.” She points at Loki. “Pin him down on the bed. _Now_.” She _really_ hopes they’ll obey her again, as they have in the past-

In an eye blink, Loki is spread-eagle on the bed. Two disembodied hands have his wrists, and two his ankles, and he gasps and then fixes her with a dark glare as she saunters up with her bowl to smile triumphantly down at him.

"You would dare to restrain me with my own servants?" Loki growls, startled and suddenly very aroused.

“And such helpful servants they are.” She raises an amused brow at him. “But I am confused. Did you not just say you enjoy the fact that I _challenge_ you, my ice prince?” She winks and kneels next to him on the bed, her eyes raking across his form, lingering on his lower half. “Indeed, you seem to enjoy it very much.”

Deliberately, she dips a finger into the chocolate and raises it to her lips, licking the sweetness off as if she is pleasuring his aching shaft. She can feel the low growl rumbling in his ribcage, against her knee, and knows his eyes are riveted to the motion of her tongue.

When her hand is clean she scoops up another finger-full, rubbing it this time across her lips, and then she catches him by the tie - it’s more like a noose than a collar, but it will serve well enough - and kisses him firmly, smearing the chocolate between their mouths.

She flicks her sweetened tongue against his lips and he opens to her touch, eagerly siphoning the chocolate off her tongue, though his teeth scrape enough to be a mild threat. 

“My poor prince,” she sighs once she leans back. “How I torture you so.” She dips a finger into the chocolate once more, and then allows it to drizzle slowly off her finger, painting looping lines down his throat and collarbones though she brushes the tie out of the way first. “I must admit, though,” she whispers conspiratorially, leaning to let her lips brush his ear, “That I enjoy seeing you pinned down and under _my_ power. It gives me a perverse pleasure. Or is that _perverted_ pleasure? I always confuse the two.” She laughs and shifts to straddle his hips, setting the bowl aside for a moment.

Loki struggles a bit, trying to bend his head and catch a little of the chocolate as it trickles down his collarbones. It’s not an easy maneuver, particularly with Star pressing sweetly along his prick. “You should be the one under _me_ ,” he breathes, “Wearing the sweetness and awaiting my tongue.”

She wags a finger at him, then dips it in the chocolate and holds it to his mouth to let him lick it off.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she reminds him. Still, she pities him enough to feed him chocolate through another slow kiss. She lets her kisses continue down his jaw until she reaches the dribble of velvety sweetness, lapping it off his skin. “Mmmm, has anyone ever told you, you make a divine serving platter, my ice prince?” she jokes. 

_ Delicious _ . She enjoys the taste of his skin regardless, but added to the chocolate flavour, it’s a special treat. She takes her time cleaning the chocolate from his skin, only to dip her finger into the bowl once more, this time drizzling it on his nipples. His hands and jaw clench, anticipating her touch, but she brings her finger to his mouth first, letting him suck and nip the remainder of the sauce off it before she bends to take a nipple between her lips, rubbing herself against his rigid prick as she does so. She’s sure the lace is creating an interesting _friction_ , as it is for her.

Loki fights a grunt, trying to deal with all the different sensations flooding through him now. The amazing taste of chocolate is further sweetened by his pet’s kiss, and _then_ the heat of her mouth against his nipples and press of her cleft against his cock has him breathing hard.

He doesn’t admit that the hands could release him at any time; better to let that surprise happen later. For the moment, the sweet torture of Star nibbling on him makes Loki feel like a pampered prince. It’s frustrating and wonderful, and if he doesn’t get more chocolate Loki senses he _may_ have to trick her out of some. “ _Some_ one seems to be enjoying herself,” he murmurs hoarsely.

She giggles. “I rather think we b _oth ar_ e,” she points out, eyeing his pulsing shaft. Her tongue snakes around his nipples until they are clean, Star biting each gently for a final act, then she feeds him another finger-full of chocolate. He sucks hard, his tongue swirling around her finger suggestively as he fixes her with a smoky gaze, and Star barely manages to maintain an aloof air. 

Her following move is to climb off him and then trail a chocolate-coated finger down his belly. She traces a languid line as his muscles tense and shift under her touch, and then with a truly evil smirk, she smears even more chocolate on his balls. He jerks against the hands, a half-formed curse on those thin lips, and Star gives him a faux-innocent smile as she bends to lick her way down his flat belly, taking her time. 

Star can feel his tension building as she moves lower and lower, though of course she skips over his heated length, moving to sample the mingled flavours of chocolate and salt on the slightly pebbled skin of his sac. His shaft twitches against her cheek and he groans softly, though Star is _very_ careful, cupping his balls in a gentle hand as her tongue makes quick work of the lines of chocolaty goodness. 

Frustration has just become torture, and Loki feels his stomach tighten as his pet’s tongue slithers over his sensitive skin, setting the nerve endings into an erotic tingle. She’s orally talented Loki knows, but this particular moment is delicious insanity as the scent of chocolate drifts around him. He lifts his head, trying to watch, wondering if he can take the tickle of those lips around his balls a moment longer or not. “Little fiend,” he accuses in a dry whisper, praying she’ll move to his aching shaft soon, before he goes insane.

She chuckles but she doesn’t have the heart to torture him much longer. She slides back up the bed and anoints his lips with another sweetened kiss, twisting his tie around her hand, then she releases it and him and takes another scoop of sauce from the bowl again, slowly dribbling the sweet stuff down the length of his cock, smirking at his obvious relief, though he makes an admirable effort to conceal it from her.

There’s the expected gasp from him as she shifts to lap the chocolate up, moving from the throbbing base to the flaring tip, before taking him deep into her mouth. She hums gently and caresses his balls, feeling all his muscles tighten until nearly every part of him she’s touching feels like solid, velvet-coated steel. He’s right on the edge, she’d take bets on it-

Loki grits his teeth, caught between wanting to come and holding off until he can drive himself deep into Star. Both are insanely good, and the moment of choice is approaching with the speed of a lightning strike. He feels his hips rocking now, and his stomach muscles tightening as his climax begins to build. A sense of chivalry makes him growl out a warning to his pet. “I may not be able to stop myself if you keep doing that--” Loki alerts her hoarsely.

Star chuckles and only suckles harder, strokes more firmly. Only seconds pass before his hips buck up and he cries out, heated spurts coating her tongue and slipping down her throat. She waits, reveling in the sense of power and control, until he is totally spent, muscles going slack underneath her. Only then does she release him from her mouth and move up the bed to kiss him deeply. She wonders if there’s any taste of chocolate left on her lips and tongue, given how eagerly Loki’s devouring her.

When their kiss breaks, Star braces herself mentally for whatever mischief Loki will visit upon her in retaliation. “Hands, you may release him,” she orders, watching as they fade into nothing.

His eyes are closed but his smirk--dimpled and promising trouble--reveals his teeth.

“Catch my little minx,” Loki murmurs, not moving. The ghostly hands re-materialize and before Star can move they have her wrists and ankles, lifting her into the air, and turning her, their supportive grip strong and sure. His eyes still closed, Loki undoes his tie and waits as the hands lower his pet until she’s straddling him again.

But not at the waist, oh no. Loki snaps the tie around her hips to pull them down, opens his eyes and savors the view of her lovely sex just above his mouth, straining against and through the lace. More hands materialize, holding her up, helping to spread her thighs wider, and Loki shifts his grip so one of his _own_ hands grips both ends of the tie, tethering her barely an inch over his face.

“Chocolate,” he calls, and yet another hand obligingly brings the bowl within his reach. He dips a finger in and raises it, works it through the lace to where the sensitive edges of her sex are pressing. The chocolate is still warm, and Loki watches as she squirms against the pressure and heat.

He tugs to pull her hips lower and licks, letting his tongue work through the open mesh of the lace, sucking and tickling lightly.

Star moans softly and squeezes her eyes and fists shut. Pleasure swirls through her and it’s a challenge not to wiggle and twist against the hands. Oh God, how badly she’s wanted _this_ , held open for him while his touch slowly drives her wild. She whimpers when he strokes against an especially tender spot, her body tensing. 

Randomly, she wonders whether the lace will survive this game.

Loki keeps up the tension a bit longer, but something must give and in this case it is the seam of the catsuit. He strokes his index finger along the edge and murmurs a quiet spell; the threads obligingly part and reweave themselves into the design, leaving a perfectly edged border around the frame of his pet’s soft curls. Nothing is torn, nothing is damaged, but the saucy little darling is now perfectly exposed from fluff in the front to a V between the dimples above her ass.

It’s a naughty bit of magic and Loki’s grin widens as Star gives a little gasp at her newly exposed self. 

“Where were we? Oh yes, perverted pleasure, wasn’t it?” he croons, and reaches two fingers into the chocolate. “Now I believe it is _your_ turn to wait---”

It takes skill not to have the chocolate drip, and Loki is very thorough, licking and nibbling the sweet, syrupy goodness of Star’s arousal. She squirms but the hands hold her firmly, and Loki tugs on the tie to bring her hips down closer as he burrows his face between her thighs.

She’s panting now, _caught_ , wanting to move away and give herself a respite, yet wanting him to keep up the sweet torture at the same time. But he’s left her no choice, there’s nowhere to escape to, and she shudders and bucks against the tie, a loud gasp escaping her as he flicks firmly at the sensitive little bundle of nerves.

“Who’s the fiend _now_?” she rasps at him, attempting not to dig her nails too deeply into the palms of her own hands. His tongue flicks again, coaxing a high-pitched cry out of her this time, the heat of his breath tickling her in a maddening fashion.

Loki senses his pet is on the edge, and for a moment he debates on keeping her there a while longer, but he knows that for mortals it’s far too easy for pleasure to become pain, so he swirls his tongue in deliberate fashion, letting go of the tie and sliding his hands up along her lacy ass to cup it firmly.

She roils, her hips rocking nicely and Loki lets her ride out her orgasm, feeling inordinately proud of himself in doing so. In the beginning his pet was fairly quiet but in their time together she’s gotten much more vocal about her thrill, and the sounds she emits make his prick throb in hopeful little bounces against his thigh.

When Star slumps a bit, wrung out and loose, Loki directs the ghostly hands to bring her down and right end up, letting them drape her on his chest--but only after setting the precious chocolate aside safely. For a while Loki lets his pet rest quietly, feeling protective, proud and pleased. He glances around and for the first time notices that the nightstand drawer is slightly open.

Star cuddles into Loki, enjoying the feel of his chest rising and falling under her cheek. His hand is gently stroking her back, fingertips following the designs in the lace. 

She hadn’t known he could do that, make the threads move and re-pattern themselves at his will. What a deliciously evil power of his, she thinks with a smile. She wonders what other tricks he has up his sleeve, a thought which sends a tiny frisson through her body, her fingers moving to circle idly around his nipple.

“Has someone been perusing my home?” Loki murmurs, his voice soft. He doesn’t want to accuse his pet, and in truth it’s perfectly natural she would be curious about his haven. The hands have orders to obey her and the Nissen set out food and drink to her tastes now. Even the temperature is now set to accommodate her mortal needs.

Star shrugs. “Had to do _some_ thing while I was waiting for you. Didn’t have my laptop so I couldn’t write, and I can’t read any of your books, so...” she shrugs again. At least he doesn’t seem peeved about her investigation. “I didn’t crowbar any locked drawers or doors, I swear.” She shifts her position on top of him slightly, letting her thigh rub against his length, stroking the palm of her hand across the hard expanse of his pectoral. 

“Mmmm, very little here would be forbidden to you, and that which is would be for your own safety my pet. Some magic needs to be contained, lest it destroy anything near it. I assure you nothing in my nightstand holds that sort of power--I may seem mad at times but I draw the line at toys that maim.” Loki laughs softly at his own joke and enjoys Star’s touch. She has lovely hands, and anytime she uses them on his skin Loki savors it.

Star snorts, but her strokes slow on his skin as a question nags at her. Carefully she shifts up, leaning over and across him to pull the top drawer of the nightstand open - she feels the unmistakable brush of soft lips and warm breath over her lace-covered nipple as she does so - and she snags the silver filigree collar out. She holds it up between them. “Whose is this?” she asks, careful to keep her voice neutral. 

Loki looks up from his teasing and his eyes brighten. “That? That was a . . . gift to me, of sorts. I should have gotten it repaired, but time and other duties . . .” he reaches for it, running a thumb over one of the stones. “Some of the finest work ever produced by the Black Dwarves.” 

“So it’s not from . . .Angr . . . _whatshername_.” Star says. She’s not sure why she cares so much. That’s over, _long_ over.

Loki arches an eyebrow, aware of new tension in his pet’s body. “No,” he assures her. “She Who Brings Grief did not care for . . . ostentation. And she kept the collar I wore. _This_ pretty was very nearly a wedding present to me from a love-struck general in one of the lesser worlds. My female form had him enthralled, and he was determined I would bear his children. When I reverted to my true form on our wedding night, it was not the surprise he was expecting, and my lovely collar broke.”

Star laughs, loudly, before clapping her hand over her mouth. “God of Mischief,” she can’t help snorting around her fingers, another loud guffaw escaping her. “You enacting the Norse version of the Crying Game, why am I not surprised?”

“Not as surprised as _he_ was,” Loki snickered. “I think the second disappointment was that I was not a virgin. In any case I was permitted to keep the collar and nothing else. I’ve held onto it as a memento of one of my better ruses.”

Star continues to try not to laugh, tears streaming from her eyes from the effort. She rolls off of Loki and curls against his side, giggling uncontrollably. “You’re incorrigible,” she gasps out in between more giggles.

“I could make you male,” Loki points out. “Believe me, it’s an interesting experience. Once I made Thor female and he wouldn’t leave his chambers. I thought he was embarrassed, but actually he was in front of his mirrors, fondling himself.”

Star blinks at that, the notion sobering her. “Uh . . . I’d need to think about _that._ I often joke to my friends that I’m a man in a woman’s body” -she doesn’t mention the dovetailing joke that her husband by contrast is a woman in a man’s body- “but I kind of like it that way. I’m not sure I’d actually want to _be_ a man.” On the other hand, if she was the male and Loki female . . . well, it’s something to consider.

Loki smiles. “Only an offer, sweet pet, and for another time if you wish. I myself think you would be a very handsome male, just as you are a beautiful woman. In the meantime--” he reaches for the bowl, “we have chocolate.”

Star smirks. “And what do you suggest we do with it, my prince?”

Loki lets one corner of his mouth curve. “I will paint runes allllll over your body, and then lick them off. This is the best magic there is, my minx. Very powerful. And tasty.”

Star stifles yet another giggle. “Shall I remove the lace first, Lord?” She waits on his word.

“Yes. Do this and I _shall_ reward you,” Loki tells her, pulling the bowl closer.  
 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Star play their own smutty version of hide-and-seek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not ours. YET.

Banner made by **cincoflex**!

He’s actually proud of his teeth. It wasn’t easy to get them right; studying predators close-up has always been dangerous, but Loki knows that his fangs are perfect, and he yawns to show them off for his pet.

It’s no surprise to see her flinch, but then again, she IS standing in front of a full-grown black panther, complete with green eyes and long whiskers. Loki flicks his tail and stares at her.

_ One of my better forms _ , he admits. _When I shift to this, the svartálfar fear me even as I roam their tunnels. I love a good stretch in this form. _Loki reaches out his front paws and lets the curved claws dig into the rug as he demonstrates his long muscles sleek under the velvety black fur. Unfortunately his pet gives a whimper at the sight, and he swivels one rounded ear towards the sound as buried instincts faintly echo through him.

He flexes his claws again. _Are you all right?_

“Uhhhh, nice kitty?” Star says uncertainly, taking a deliberately slow step back. She’s not sure what he wants from her. Oh, she’s used to being yanked out of her everyday Muggle existence by now - this time his magic had swirled around her just after she’d finished a class lecture, luckily after all her students had already left the room - but she certainly hadn’t expected to end up facing . . . _this_.

As she debates putting another step between them, her eyes riveted to his sharp claws, she wonders if and when she should tell him she’s on the tail end of a period. _Shouldn’t have tempted Fate by bringing it up last time, dumbass._

_ Later _ , she decides. More practical issues first: “Maybe this would be a good time to mention that I’m not into, uh, bestiality? I know human mythology is full of it - Zeus and Leda comes to mind - but that doesn’t particularly float _my_ boat.” Though his fur looks very soft to the touch, and she’ll admit to being slightly intrigued . . .yeah, _no_. Full stop there.

Loki saunters closer to his pet, circling around her, brushing against her thighs. He can smell so much better in this form, and among the scents rising to his nose he breathes in the acridity of a little fear, a trace of perfume, the dried grass aroma of paper and over that, the richer tones of hormone-laced blood.   
Ah, he thinks.

He returns to his starting point in front of her, his big green eyes wide and unwinking. _Mating with animals is not of interest to me either_ , Loki assures her. _I desired to see you and summoned you before I recalled that I was not exactly . . . myself. This form allowed me to move among the wilds of Vanashi uncontested, and stalk prey exceptionally well. I enjoy a good chase._

Her curiosity overcoming her nerves at last, she walks over to his side, stroking her fingers along his muscled back. His fur is indeed soft, warm, and thick, and the rumbling purr he gives as he leans into her legs again makes her smile. 

Despite her earlier words, as she continues to stroke the incredibly soft pelt, she finds herself wondering after all what it might feel like to be naked and have this fur rubbing against her, all over her body . . . _Perv_ , she accuses herself wryly. 

She wonders if the runes he drew on her last time in chocolate have altered her in some way. He’d sworn up and down that he hadn’t been working any actual spells on her - and at the time, she figured it was far more likely he’d been writing ‘Property of Loki’ on her ass in runes, or something to that effect - but . . . he IS the God of Lies. 

The memory of that act, and what he had done afterwards with that talented tongue of his causes warmth to gather in her belly now.

“I repeat, you officially have the weirdest hobbies,” is all she says out loud, though, smirking as she lightly scratches behind his ears. She’s never met a cat who didn’t love her ear-scratching technique-

He feels like melting. Something about the way Star is caressing him makes Loki long to press harder against her hands, and the rumble rising up from his chest is almost embarrassing in its loudness. _Hardly a hobby; I was making an incursion into enemy territory . . . oh that’s good. That’s very, very good,_ Loki murmurs blissfully. _You do have gifted hands._

She’s smirking at him, and in an attempt to regain his lost dignity, Loki rubs his nose with one paw, licking it for a moment.

Star giggles, continuing to scratch, and his ongoing purr is almost loud enough to make her bones rattle. After a short while she allows her hand to slip down his powerful neck as she sits down on the rug next to him, leaning her shoulder against the solid mass of his side. 

It’s interesting; he’s been waiting shorter and shorter intervals to ‘summon’ her. The incident with the were and the chocolate had been merely a week ago. But maybe she shouldn’t read too much into it. He’ll probably get himself captured or wrapped up in some scheme and she’ll find herself waiting months before she sees him again. Best not to start _expecting_ frequent visitations.

“Enemy territory? A ‘good chase’? Do I even want to know?” she asks, stretching one leg out straight in front of her and groaning under her breath. She had just finished two classes back-to-back in the same room when Loki’s magic had pooled around her, which means she’s been on her feet for the last three hours straight. She pulls the leg back in towards her and repeats the stretch with the other leg, feeling Loki’s quizzical gaze on her.

_ You may ask, if you wish, _ Loki tells her, reaching out a heavy paw to pat her leg. The scent of her fertility is arousing in odd ways; he’s not sure if he wants to mate with his pet, or hunt her. Possibly both, especially if she keeps working her fingers along his fur. _I keep my machinations out of our conversations so I do not bore you with them._

He flicks his tail, feeling restless, wanting to lick her neck and nuzzle her hair.

She raises a brow. “I think I just _did_ ask,” she points out. Now that she’s started touching him, she doesn’t feel any urge to stop. He seems to be enjoying it as well, or at least, he hasn’t given her any other indications to the contrary. So she continues her strokes, sliding her fingers deep into his ebony fur. His purr drops to an even deeper note, vibrating through her hand.

It seems he is as much cat, as he is snake and wolf.

_ Hmmmmm. I am seeking to convince the son of Vanashi’s supreme ruler to rebel against his mother and take charge of the planet _ , Loki tells her. _The Regent is not loved by the populace or the boy. When I succeed, the shift of power will interest a neighboring planet and they will go to war. Without his mother to command, Vanashi will be overcome and fall. It will be peaceful in the end, and in the confusion, many important devices will disappear. Each group will assume the other lost them. You and I will know better though._

It’s hard to concentrate when his pet strokes him this way, Loki realizes. Her touch is bewitching, and his very animal instincts are making him hunger for her in that strangely intertwined way. Hunt? Mate? The two are more entangled than ever, and he feels the rumble of his purr deepen. _You are in your courses, are you not?_

Star resists the urge to smile. Such a strange way of phrasing it. Makes her think either of ‘courses’ one teaches at school, or perhaps running a race. “Yes, sadly. Our luck had to run out sometime, I guess.” 

She reaches around under his belly to rub his other side - don’t want him to be unbalanced, after all! - and leans her shoulder and cheek against his thick pelt, breathing in the clean musky animal scent of him, his heartbeat reverberating in her ear. It’s not every day that she gets to pat a _big_ cat. “Never mind me,” she teases. “I have no pets at home, so I’m stocking up on my quota of ‘petting’ for the year.”

It’s hard for her to ignore the thin thread of unease his story has stirred in her, though. She knows his ambition is to cause discord and chaos, but as someone who lives her life in completely the opposite way, it’s hard not to wish he might someday become a force for peace. Well, without having to cause bloodshed and steal things first.

She has to wonder also why someone so fond of tumult hasn’t tried anything (that she knows of, anyway) to remove his number one rival for her affections - namely, her husband. She’s damned curious, but it’s probably safest not to ask. If such a thought hasn’t already occurred to him, it’s unlikely to be a smart thing to _suggest_ it.

_ I must warn you _ , Loki rumbled, _I am not at all deterred by your blood. If anything, it adds a primitive enticement, but if you are in pain or do not desire sex I will understand, albeit reluctantly._

Part of him knows he should shift form, but his pet’s amazing ability to stroke and soothe has him in a state of bliss. Loki stretches out his furry chin, wordlessly inviting her to stroke it, and catches the slightly troubled look on her face. _Yes, my sweet one?_

Star notes Loki’s intense green gaze on her and struggles to school her expression. “Nothing important,” she lies, answering his unspoken invitation and moving her hand under his head to scratch the point of his chin. “But no, I’m not in pain, that’s been over for a day or so. And since you’re the one who basically has to deal with the mess, if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.” She shrugs. 

She wonders what exactly he means by ‘primitive enticement’. Maybe it’s a cat thing? She runs her hand lightly down his fuzzy throat and rubs his chest with the flat of her hand, smiling again at his purr; he sounds like a Harley Davidson. 

Loki tips his big head towards her, whiskers twitching. _Keep this up and I’m afraid you shall have complete power over me, Pet. Perhaps I had better shift before that balance tips in your favor, hmmmm? Much as I enjoy this, I long to return the favor, and this tongue is not one for kissing OR caressing._

Star giggles. “Maybe I should call _you_ ‘Pet’. You appear to enjoy it immensely when I do turn the tables on you,” she reminds him with a teasing wink. 

But she does remove her hand from his fur, scooting back on the floor a little. She watches him with interest the whole time: How will the change happen? Will he shed the cat’s skin the way a snake molts? Will the cat dissolve into a blinding shower of light, and then Loki will appear? Or will it be more like watching a werecat turning itself back into human form, fur melting and body parts collapsing and morphing into humanoid form? 

He gives a little chuff, shakes his head, and a flare of green-white light surrounds him for a moment. When it fades, Loki lies sprawled on the rug, nude. “Not an illusion; a true transformation,” he murmurs with pride. “Had it been an illusion I would be dressed.”

He gives his pet a quick, dangerous smile, well-aware that he’s half-erect and that she’s licked her lips. “Yes,” Loki tells her, “You **were** arousing me.”

“Poor baby.” The side of Star’s mouth quirks, and she crawls forward on all fours, moving over him. She pauses on her way up his body to lick a slow wet stripe the length of his shaft - he groans and pulses against her mouth - but continues moving until she’s over his chest. She leans in for a kiss, enjoying the taste of him. After long moments she pulls back, bracing her hands on his shoulders. “I hope you wouldn’t have sent me right back home if I _had_ been in pain, or not interested in sex,” she muses quietly.   

Loki gives her a surprised look. “You are my pet, and therefore my responsibility, little beauty. If you were injured I would do my best to heal you, and if you were not receptive to my attentions I would respect that. Grudgingly I suppose, but you _have_ rather spoiled me with your indulgences, and not every meeting needs to be a carnal one.”

It troubles him that she’d even think otherwise, and Loki captures her chin in his hand, gazing into her eyes. “I _am_ lustful; the biggest lie would be to deny it. Indulging in you now would please me greatly, but it is not . . . required. Mine is a lonely life, and your very companionship does much for my spirits, Star of mine.”

It’s true, Loki acknowledges to himself. She is well-named, a star in his dark nights, full of warmth and comfort.

It reassures her to hear that this isn’t just casual sex to him; even though he’d said he loved her weeks ago, in her experience men say many things, not all of them truthful, and he _is_ the god of untruth. She smiles and wraps her hand around his. “It’s OK, never mind me. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain.” 

She turns his hand and kisses the palm, then leans down to kiss his lips again. “I’ll bet that never happens to _you_ , Silvertongue,” she guesses, grinning. 

“More often than you know,” Loki finds himself admitting with a wry grin. “Although I generally am able to back up any claim or threat I make.” He begins to undo her blouse, absently admiring the buttons on it. “As I told you before, there is no aspect of your body that I do not admire or appreciate. Let others fret; I prefer to savor all aspects of womanhood. Possibly because I HAVE been a woman in my time.”

He wonders, briefly, if the male his pet is bonded to has the typical distaste and misunderstanding about monthly courses. It would be likely, Loki knows, and for a moment he feels pity for the man.

Star smiles and runs her hands down his arms as he unbuttons her. “I’m sure being able to inhabit both forms doesn’t hurt,” she agrees. She assists him in working the blouse off her shoulders and arms, shivering with pleasure as he pauses to trace the edge of her bra-cup with cool fingers. “What’s it like to be in another form? I mean, do you perceive and think about things the way a cat would?”

“Yes . . . and no,” Loki replies, pausing to think. “I keep my faculties and project my thoughts into speech, so that part of me doesn’t change from my own perspective. But the sensory input is that of whatever beast I take the form of. As a cat I have amplified hearing and my whiskers catch even the slightest movement. That’s not to say I’d have trouble tracking you down as I am right now, but as a cat, you’d never stand a chance.”

The flick of her tongue over her lips gives him a hint of her thoughts, and he manages a smile tinged with cunning. 

Her brow arches. “That sounds like a challenge,” Star observes with amusement. She gazes critically out the nearest window. Loki’s hall is still at the edge of the cliff, and knowing his preferences, it won’t exactly be _warm_ outside. “To be fair though, I think I’d need some kind of head start. And maybe a warm coat, or at the very least my blouse back first,” she points out, smirking down at him. 

Oh, she knows she doesn’t have a hope in hell of evading him for long, but that isn’t the point, is it?

He feels his pulse quicken. “Oh definitely a challenge, but I believe the conclusion is foregone, Pet. Beast or god, I _will_ find you. Just to make it a bit more balanced however, I would permit you both a head start, and a map. Do you still think you can evade capture in, let us say, half an hour?”

Loki notices that her gaze is still on his shaft, and he flexes it, as much to amuse as distract her. The action does both, and her blush is absolutely charming.

Star catches on fast to his little game, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “Oh, you’ll find me. The game is how _long_ it will take, we both know that. A half hour? Hm. What are we playing for? And you haven’t answered me about what I get to wear. I’m not into freezing my tits off.” 

By way of illustration she walks over and pushes open (with a lot of effort, because it’s damned _heavy_ ) one of the large wooden front doors. A chill wind spirals into the room, raising goose bumps on her bare skin and causing her nipples to stiffen against her bra. 

She crosses her arms, shivering, and turns back to Loki. “You _like_ cold, I don’t. I’m not running through that half-naked, map and head start or not.”

Loki barely stops himself from laughing; languidly he waves a hand towards the door. “Very well, my delicate little pet, I can be . . . accommodating.” By the time he’s done with the gesture, the snows have faded, leaving green forest lit by moonlight. The scent of pine and grass drift in, warm and enticing. “Better?”

He can see it is by the way she turns to look at him, her hands on her hips.

“And as for the wager, well . . . When I win, I think having you on your knees before me would be sufficient enticement. I do love a good little pet on her pillow.”

Loki knows it’s a bit of a taunt, but it’s fun to watch his pet begin to bristle.

“And what do I get when _I_ win?” she asks tartly. “I’m not going to take on what you’re telling me is a nearly impossible task, without some kind of incentive.” Her eyes narrow as she retraces her steps to the rug. “And while we’re still discussing terms, I think the playing field needs to be even more level. I say you don’t get to use any magic, except whatever you need to use to shift shape. That’s all. It’s only fair, since I don’t have magic of any kind,” she points out as she reaches down to snag her discarded blouse. 

“ _Name_ your prize,” Loki replies coolly. “I don’t need magic to find you; I don’t even _need_ to change shape, little pet. In fact, maybe I’ll give YOU the ability to change shape--would that balance the scales sufficiently?”

He rises and reluctantly dresses in leggings and a rough-weave tunic as Star considers his offer. Part of him hopes she takes it--Loki is curious to see how his pet would handle magic and what creature she might shape herself into.

Star slips her blouse back on and buttons it up as she considers. She has no idea what ‘prize’ she wants - and it’s likely academic anyway, since he’ll probably win - so she focuses on his offer. 

“Are there any dangers in me taking on another shape?” she inquires. She’s read far too many fantasy novels where someone shape-shifts but later loses their humanity, becoming ‘lost’ forever in their new form, to consider doing such a thing lightly.

“Only in falling in love with the freedom, I suppose,” Loki tells her. “You will retain your humanity within whatever form you choose, and you may shift by concentrating on your collar. Think collar and form, and for our time this time you shall have the power to alter yourself.”

Loki is well-aware that giving her a focus will help; he himself can do it without one, especially after all these years, but his pet is new to the ways of magic and will need guidance. “You will feel your creature-self responses and still be able to choose what action you want to take. Still interested?”

“Hell yes,” she answers. “How many people get a chance like this?” She pauses to think. She’ll need a creature that can move fast, and Loki probably has the right idea with something cat-like . . . a cheetah? No, she doesn’t think it’s all that suited to forest terrain, being a creature of the savannah. Mind you, she’s not sure exactly what she _is_ facing-- “Can I see the map? And I suppose I’ll need-” She smiles and points to her bare neck.

He waves and watches as the collar appears around his pet’s throat, the stones as green as the forest outside and look lovely against her skin. Loki comes forward and holds out a small vellum scroll. “The map. I will go and read for an hour, and let you try and hide yourself. I would wish you good luck, but fear it will all be mine, pretty toy.”

“We’ll see,” she counters slyly, stretching up and weaving her fingers in his hair, drawing him down into a passionate kiss. She steps away from him, unrolling the map and scanning it over. 

She quickly decides her best strategy is to stay off the earth as much as she can -- he can’t follow footprints and bent grass if there isn’t any! And also to shift shape a few times to throw him off. 

According to the map there’s a river bisecting the forest that now apparently surrounds them. Excellent. She won’t escape him, and he’s probably going to cheat no matter what he’s promised her, but . . . she’ll give it her best shot.

“OK, I’m going to set my timer for one hour as soon as I walk out those doors, and then you have thirty minutes after that to find me. Agreed?”

He’s sitting on his throne now, hands steepled in front of him and watching her with a very predatory gaze, one that makes the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Prey before the hunter; exactly how he wants her to feel, no doubt. “Agreed,” he says, his voice low and deep. She fights a shiver.

“Then I guess you’d better power me up,” she suggests, bracing herself in case his shape-change spell hurts as it takes hold.

Loki lifts his chin and extends one arm towards her, murmuring a string of syllables and letting a charge of red-tinged sparkles roll down the lean muscles to fly off of his fingertips. The sizzle hits Star and sinks in with an almost musical chime. After checking to make sure she’s absorbed it and is unharmed, Loki cocks his head and motions to the open door, his smile almost droll.

“I will find you shortly, my precious pet, and bring you back to your little pillow, all the better to serve me.”

He laughs when she slams the door, and sits down again, reaching for his copy of the Prose Edda bound in dragon-hide, and thumbs through his favorite parts, trying to concentrate. It’s difficult though--images of Star as a bird, or a wolf or a doe keep flittering through his mind, all of them graceful and quick. He knows he can run a fair distance without magic, but any or all of those forms will make the chase difficult on foot.

Loki knows he could cheat; that she probably expects him to, but part of him wants the physical challenge of going after her in true hunter form. He smiles to himself, fingers restless against the binding of the book.

Star turns away from the doors. _Ignore his taunts,_ she coaches herself. _He’s just trying to distract you, throw you off your game._ She sets her watch to chime in one hour, then pulls out the map again, nodding after a moment.

She rolls it back up and shoves it into a pocket of her jeans, then puts a hand to her collar and concentrates. Pale green light fills her eyes and mind for a moment, and her flesh tingles and tickles-

When her eyes clear, everything is different. The grass, which was formerly just brushing along her shins, is now so tall it’s like being in a bizarre forest. Her eyes can see so much better in the moonlight, and scents she never noticed before tantalize her senses. The little black mouse twitches her whiskers, then sits back on her hind legs and grooms herself as a new thought occurs to her.

Why run? Loki _expects_ her to run. To put as much distance between them as possible. So why not try to throw him off by sticking close? Say, crawl along close to the wall of his hall - and her mouse’s brain, always fearful of aerial predators, approves heartily of that plan - until she reaches the opposite end, then find a hole in it and hunker down. Or maybe even find a way back in, and squirm back indoors once he leaves?

The sneakiness of the notion makes the mouse squeak with laughter.

She turns back towards the hall, intending to follow through with that idea . . .but then she stops. He said he’d give her an hour to hide herself, and does she really want to spend all that time sitting right _here_ , fidgeting and hoping he won’t think of looking for her practically on his doorstep? 

She wonders also why he has been so generous, giving her a full hour to hide herself. Surely if she just tries to run, as far and as fast as she can, he won’t be able to catch up to her within the half-hour allotted, let alone search for her?

Unless he _cheats_. Well if he does, then in a way she’s won, right? Forcing Mr. High and Mighty to use his magic like a crutch . . . not too shabby for a ‘weak’ little mortal.

The mouse laughs squeakily again. Before taking off towards the trees, however, first she tries to fool him into wasting additional time - maybe - by scurrying around the perimeter of his hall as fast as her dainty pink paws will take her. If he’s a good enough tracker to even see those tracks, then let his reward be a waste of precious search time. 

After a quick break to groom her whiskers, she lays a paw on the collar - it had not disappeared like her clothes and watch, but is still around her neck in a mouse-sized form - and shifts into the shape of a crow. Beating her wings rapidly and fighting back a mocking caw, she circles once over the roof of Loki’s hall, then makes her way over the treetops towards the river.

Loki realizes he’s read the same page three times now without taking in a word of it. No matter; he knows the legends. He’s _lived_ the legends so inaccurately recorded by biased Midgardian scribes. With a snap Loki closes the book and rises, pacing towards the bed.

Has enough time passed yet? He isn’t sure. There’s an ache in his loins and a playful sense of restlessness that keeps him moving around his hall, his steps loud in the quiet. The scent of green grass and pine--so different from the cold of snow and ice--works its way into his senses and makes him that much keener for the hunt.

_ THE hunt _ , Loki thinks with pleasure. A hunt that will end with his pet under him, acknowledging his power over her. That thought sharpens his desire to a low thrum in his veins.

Star speeds through the air, marveling at how her bird brain (not dumb at all, though she already knew that) automatically adjusts her flight to the air currents, her weightless body and wings catching them effortlessly. Though she _is_ easily distracted by shiny things, such as the occasional gleam of moonlight on a turned leaf far below her.

She’s always been fascinated by animal behaviour, ever since bringing home a massive full-colour illustrated book on it as a child. To this day she remembers the page about stickleback fish and their courtship behaviours. So now, to actually be _in_ an animal’s mind, to witness how it works . . . well, she wishes she didn’t have the task of trying to hide from Loki to distract her, so she could focus entirely on this fascinating process instead. _I’ll ask him if I can do this again sometime,_ she promises herself. 

The forest eventually opens up beneath her in a wide swath, and there is her goal - the river. She folds her wings and drops down, cawing triumphantly. 

She lands and hops along the riverbank, thinking. She puts her foot to the collar still around her neck, and a moment later a black mare stands in the bird’s place, pawing at the bank and snorting, shaking her mane before wading into the icy water. It comes up about halfway to her knees, the current pushing strongly against her legs, but she begins to trot upstream, marveling at the power and grace in this new body.

She hopes she’s leading Loki a merry chase. Or will, once the hour is up. 

Loki sighs and summons a Midgardian timepiece, checking it carefully. There are still fifteen minutes to go, and he’s sure each one will take an eternity to pass. Even though he’s tempted to begin the hunt early, it’s a matter of pride to keep his word to his pet. Another twist of his fingers and a copy of the map appears in his palm.

He knows his haven well, having created it himself, but it’s been a while since he’s roamed beyond the doorsill of his hall, and much of that territory has stayed hidden under snow. Star is right; he does prefer the cold. It’s easier to create, and he finds it soothing. Still, there are factors to this hunt that his pet hasn’t realized yet, and those will give him an edge in finding her. Not exactly magic, Loki knows, but not information he volunteered either.

With a smirk he wonders if she will realize either of them before he starts.

The mare shakes her mane and prances through the rushing water, neighing. The part of her brain which is still Star is thrilled - this is like a dream come true. How many times did she read The Black Stallion as a child? Too many to count. And now to _be_ a horse-

She’s so absorbed in enjoying the strength and speed of this new body that it takes her some time to notice that while her long legs are moving, and the river and forest still seem to stretch out endlessly ahead of her . . . she’s not actually making any progress. The tumbled piles of boulders to her left on the riverbank, for example, are not _moving_. 

She whinnies, tossing her head and stopping dead. _What the hell-_

Star wades out onto the bank of the river, trying to move forward from that point instead, but again, even though there’s no resistance, she can’t actually move forward anymore. 

Has Loki found her already?

She wheels, looking behind and all around her, but she seems to be alone still.    
She shakes herself, chuffing. Maybe it’s a trick of his? She touches her nose to the collar and morphs quickly back to human form, damp and shivering with cold, to check her watch-

_ What the-  _ The numbers are flashing in and out of existence, changing randomly even as she stares. _Oh crap._ How is she supposed to know how much time she has left to hide? Or even if he’ll find her within their agreed-upon deadline?

She decides she can’t afford to waste time on this, or on trying to figure out why she can’t run any further. She needs to hide, now. 

The bank is covered with her muddy hoof prints and now footprints, so she shifts back into mare form and wades right back into the river, retracing her steps downstream for a few minutes. Then she does her best to make sure there are no tracks leading from the river for Loki to follow: she goes to one side of the river, turns, and then gallops as fast as she can in the confined space. 

When she’s just about to step on the bank, instead she _leaps_ as far as she can into the forest’s edge, changing in mid-air to another form. He can’t track her exit from the river with no prints, right?

She lands as an ocelot, as lightly as she can, and looks up at the trees. The plan remains to stay off the earth, and from what she remembers, this cat can climb trees very well. She purrs at the thought of managing to throw Loki for a loop.

Star climbs the first tree large enough to bear her weight, and then leaps from branch to branch and tree to tree, her agile body and sharp claws serving her well. Again, she marvels at how her animal brain somehow instinctively knows which branches will bear her weight and which will not.

After a couple of minutes she decides it’s finally time to stop running. She finds a sturdy fork in a tree, shielded by a screen of leaves, and hunkers down, flattening her ears. Let the waiting begin.

The last minute ticks over, and Loki gives a relieved sigh, making the clock vanish. He pulls on a pair of fur-lined boots and a light cloak of green velvet, all the better to blend in as he heads out. The night smells rich with pine, grass and water, and Loki takes a moment to enjoy the scents. He looks up to the sky, noting the bright moon and smiles at it, then lets his gaze sweep over the immediate vicinity. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to stay close, he knows; his pet is more sensible than that. Nevertheless he steps around the hall first, eyes wide, ears alert.

Star fidgets impatiently in her cradle of leaves and branches, peering through a break in the foliage to scan the forest floor below her with amber eyes. She _does_ want to be found, of course . . . just after the half-hour has elapsed. With her watch no longer working though, how will she be able to tell if it’s past the deadline or not? She huffs a sigh and licks her right forepaw thoroughly. Can she trust the God of Lies to be truthful about that when he finds her? She’s not sure. Well either way, it’s been fun to try to match wits with him. 

Loki strides forward, taking in the night air, letting it sharpen his senses. There are trees along the slopes, and he’s aware of the sounds of the river, the soft splash of water carrying through the distance. His pet is nowhere nearby, he’s sure--not only is she too canny to try and double back on him, but she’s also just the sort to lead him on a chase.

And he’s ready for one, certainly. It’s a pity that she hasn’t realized that aside from himself, she’s the only other animal in this little pocket universe of his. There are no other creatures here--no birds or beasts in this tiny domain of his at all, and Loki doesn’t bother to hide his smile as he scans his surroundings, listening for footsteps, or the flutter of wings to guide his hunt.

Star yawns silently, quickly growing bored. With nothing better to do, she debates how to react when Loki shows up. Simply wait up here for him? Bolt down to the ground and make him run after her? Or, if he happens to walk right beneath her tree, _pounce_? She chuckles, her cat-self purring, and goes back to licking her fur. 

It’s harder to move quietly through a warm climate, but Loki does, cocking his head and listening carefully. There are a few sounds that reach him--branches moving in the breeze, the murmur of the river--but other than that, his universe is silent.

Well, very nearly silent. Loki holds his body still and carefully swings his head from side to side, deepening his sense of hearing. It’s not magic, per se--the Asgardians are formidable hunters in their own right--and then he hears it. A soft little rumble, and under that, the quick beat of a small heart.

Smaller than it should be, Loki realizes, and smiles again. So his pet _has_ changed herself, apparently. Whatever Star is now, it’s bound to be quick. A rabbit perhaps? A young fox?

He moves in the direction of the sounds, taking the time to keep his boot-steps quiet through the grasses.

Star lays her chin on her curled forepaws and flicks her tail. No, she decides, it probably isn’t a good idea to jump him. If she manages to startle him (unlikely as that seems), he may take a swing at her before he realizes it’s her. He’s _very_ strong, and could hurt her, possibly even kill her. And although she’s no expert on Norse mythology, she’s pretty sure raising the dead isn’t counted among his magical skills. Perhaps it would be safest just to give in gracefully . . . or run like hell!

Loki moves on, licking his lips. He’s aware that he’s half-hard now, aroused and enjoying himself. What a moment it will be when he lands his prey, he thinks. She shall be furious of course, but that will only add spice to the moment. Perhaps she will struggle even after he’s caught her. Loki grins at that thought, savoring it a moment.

He would not hurt his Star for the world, but struggling with her, overpowering her does have a raw appeal he can’t deny. She’s _such_ a passionate creature, so quick to anger at times that seeing that fury overcome by lust . . . _That_ would be a thrill indeed!

Loki reaches the edge of the trees and searches the ground, finding nothing. He turns towards the river, keeping his gaze to the banks, looking for any telltale sign of his pet.

_ Christ, I am so. FUCKING. Bored _ . Where the heck _is_ he? She’s better at avoiding detection than she predicted she would be, it seems. She purrs at the thought and grooms her whiskers. Her ears swivel, listening for the sound of footsteps. That’s when she realizes -- this place is _too_ quiet. There’s no hum of insects, no beat of wings, no sound except those of leaves in the wind, and the muted rush of the river. She hasn’t even seen a single living creature besides herself. Odd.

Loki spots a few hoof-prints and the sight of them brings back memories. He halts, feeling a quick surge of heat along his high cheekbones, and rubs his chin as he studies the tracks.

“Unconscious choice, or deliberate taunt, my pet? I suppose I shall ask once I find you,” he murmurs. The prints lead towards the water, and Loki debates tracking along one side of the river to see if he can spot any other tracks leading out. He knows this stretch of land is rocky, but short--he had never intended to make his haven larger than needed, and certainly he’d never anticipated roaming through it.

But Loki knows something about being hunted, and on an educated guess he turns downstream, striding quickly, his keen vision taking in first one bank and then the other. Nothing unusual and he wonders if his instincts are wrong when the scent of horse flickers by--just a trace--and he stops, casting his gaze back to the ground.

No hoof-prints here, but just at the outer edge of the forest there is a trace of sand, and there, the single deep track of a padded foot with four toes. Small--too small to be canine--and pointed towards the forest. Loki chuckles at his pet’s ingenuity and looks up, towards the trees.

“Oh now I truly DO want to pet your fur, little darling,” he croons and heads off again, feeling confident.

Her ears swivel reflexively-- What was that noise? Star strains harder to hear. Did she actually hear anything (is it even be possible to hear Loki coming? She’s not so sure)? Or is tension leading her to imagine things? 

But her cat-self is convinced that an actual presence is nearby, and Star finds herself on edge. She flexes her claws, digging them into tree bark as she crouches, ears now laid back, and heartbeat speeding up. Her nostrils flare, searching for the familiar scent of leather on the faint breeze.

With her watch malfunction, she has no way to know if it’s past their appointed deadline or not, or if Loki cheated her out of the full hour of preparation time. Perhaps she should act as though she believes that she’s won, just in case she _has_? If he figures out she has no clue as to who actually won, no doubt he’ll take full advantage.

She would shake her head if she was human, but her cat-self flexes its claws again instead. Star tenses, scanning the forest floor below with her sharp night vision, still unsure whether to stand her ground, or to lead him on a little chase or not-

Loki pauses, staring upwards into the lofty branches of the trees, trying to keep his presence quiet. He’s downwind, so he knows his scent isn’t travelling ahead of him, and he squints a bit, trying to focus on any unexpected shape or movement. It dawns on him how lovely the night is, how the greenery has its own beauty in the moonlight.

A tiny movement in a tree alerts him, and Loki lets his gaze shift to see the rounded form in the fork, almost completely shielded by leaves. He steps back and begins to move around, keeping his gaze on the form, hoping to come up from behind.

Her cat-self is really annoying her right now. Its senses insist something is coming, something _bigger_ than her, and that side of her wants to run away, **now**. Well, if there aren’t any other animals in Loki’s pocket dimension, then it can only be _him_ , and damned if she’s going to let him scare her into running like a . . . well, fraidy-cat.

Despite her best efforts, if it is Loki, she still can’t see or smell him, and the soft rustle of the leaves around her is covering up any noises he may be making, but . . . he’s a trickster, right? No, wrong, he’s THE Trickster. Which means he’s probably going to try to sneak up behind her. Well, it’s what _she_ would do in his position.

A deliciously wicked thought occurs to her, her cat-eyes narrowing in glee. If he’s there and he’s trying to scare her, flush her out, maybe it’s time to turn the tables. Scare him.

Time to see just how far she can push this shape-shifting thing.

Star performs a rapid one-eighty and leaps from her hiding place straight out into the air, and as she leaps she touches her nose to the collar and fixes an impossible image in her head, _changing_ -

The creature which lands on the forest floor with a thump hard enough to shake the earth is no longer furry OR small. Silver scales glimmer in the moonlight, as do the long talons and the shiny spikes adorning every joint and protecting her spine. The end of her tail twitches like a cat’s still, even if the spiked ball on the end is a lot more dangerous.

Star bats enormous silver wings and roars down at the figure in front of her, gratified to see Loki stumble backwards, his cape whipped up by the wind coming off her wings.

“Looking for _me,_ little ice prince?” she inquires with amusement, her voice booming through the forest. 

Apparently dragons can speak aloud - or _her_ version can. _Sweet_. _And he’s going to need a_ bigger _pillow,_ she thinks with an evil laugh.

Loki suppresses a chuckle at the sight of his pet feeling so smug. She’s chosen an impressive form, and certainly anyone else would be intimidated--at the very least hesitant, but he knows that it’s her, and if she’s up for a challenge then by all means, he can certainly provide that.

“I have _found_ you, just as I said I would; therefore I have WON,” he points out, and in a flare of power he shifts himself into three of himself, concentrating hard on making his duplicates move independently. “Be a good girl and admit it, my Star.”

He and his doubles begin to circle around her, crowding and keeping her attention shifting.

Star smirks - though her dragon lips are not capable of following suit - and sits back on her haunches. She then extends her powerful wings, carefully wrapping them around each Loki on either side of her, and drawing them into her scaled sides in an odd sort of hug. Next she reaches to corral the Loki closest to the front; she’s not sure if he’s the ‘original’, but it scarcely matters. Her hands - and they _are_ her hands, she notices, if much larger than usual, and scaled and taloned - reach to gently clasp the remaining Loki by the shoulders. “Silver of tongue, but poor of memory,” she remarks, deliberately copying the style and cadence of his speech. “Our wager was never about IF you would find me. The bet was that you would be able to do so within the half-hour time allotted. And you have _not_. Thus **I** have won.” 

She chuckles and smoke issues from her nostrils, before she bends her whiplike neck, bringing her glowing silver eyes down until they are at the same level as his dark, calculating ones. 

“In addition,” she drawls, “Did you not claim, ice prince, that you would not _need_ your magic to capture me? Yet here you are, duplicating yourself. How disappointing - Loki, the mighty Norse god, reduced to using his tricks and magic to capture one small, weak little mortal. By my estimation, such means I have won twice over.” Her grin widens - both her mental one and her fanged one. “Perhaps I’ll claim as my prize that both you _and_ your two duplicates must _service_ me this night,” she adds in a faux-pensive tone, the notion beginning to stir her arousal.

All three of the Lokis frown dangerously. “You are mistaken. The wager was that I would not need magic to FIND you, and I have not used it thus. And I _did_ find you within the allotted time, my pet. I will forgive you your mistake and slander because I am a loving master, but the time has come for you to accept your defeat in this diversion.”

He tenses slightly, aware of how delicate the situation truly is. The dragon form might intimidate a lesser being, but Loki is well-aware that under it is his pet, trying hard for bravado. It’s one thing to be aroused, but another to let his anger out, and he knows how dangerous that would be.

She can read the growing anger in his eyes, and she sighs. Enraging him was _not_ part of the plan. As carefully as she took hold of all three of him, she releases each one, then concentrates.

Being back in her own body again feels both familiar and odd, after existing in so many different ones. “Maybe you’re telling the truth, and maybe you’re not,” she says. She shivers in the coolness of the forest, lifting her wrist to examine her watch. It’s still behaving strangely, the numbers flashing and changing randomly. “But since my watch doesn’t seem to be working properly, I have no way to tell. So for that reason _only_ , therefore I concede that you have won, my Lord.” She goes slowly to her knees in the grass, eyes downcast, watching as three pairs of boots move to stand around her. 

He _could_ be telling the truth about the deadline to find her, she knows. On the one hand, he is the god of lies, but on the other, he promised never to lie to her, hadn’t he? 

Of course there’s also the possibility that he sabotaged her watch, just to ensure his victory in exactly this way, but she figures it’s equally likely that magic and science don’t mix, and the shape-changing itself threw it off. There are too many variables to know what really happened here. She sighs again, waiting.

Loki effortlessly shifts to one again, and waves a hand at her. Star shifts shape again, returning to ocelot form. He reaches out to pet her, gently toying with one of her ears for a moment. “Because you are so bold and such a sweet tease, we will go one more round, oh sweet puss. You have a two minute head start.”

With that, Loki shifts himself, and standing in his spot is a lean, glossy-furred wolf with green eyes and white fangs. His thoughts reach her easily, his voice echoing in her mind.

< _Run_ , my sleek beauty, and when I catch you, we shall see which how long it takes for us to give into our need to mate!>

Star laughs inwardly, then turns and bolts deep into the forest, running as fast as she can through the undergrowth. Her small size helps, but the ocelot is better suited to climbing trees.

For a moment she considers doing just that, travelling through the branches again like before - her cat-self, afraid of the larger predator behind her, _wants_ her to, and wolves aren’t known for their tree-climbing skills - but it’s clear Loki wants to pursue her. Her pulse races, blood thrumming in her ears, and the thought of him chasing after her stirs something deep within her, a _hunger_.

She does try once to shift shape into something faster - the cheetah - but this time even when she concentrates hard, nothing happens. Loki wants her to stay in this form it seems. Why did he select a wolf, then? <Interspecies mating? Kinky!> she thinks with another laugh, mentally projecting the thought behind her in case he can somehow pick up on it. 

Loki watches his pet race off, his keen vision tracking her as she slips into the forest, and he licks his snout, feeling the restless joy of the chase begin. She will be swift, he knows, but the moment he touches her, they will both be human again. Human, and naked.

Her thought floats back to him about mating as animals and Loki gives a wolfish chuckle at the thought. Certainly they’d be incompatible, although having her wear fur while taking her does have its appeal. Perhaps later he might gift her with a cape or wrap, but for now--

Loki lopes off in the direction his pet has gone, moving quietly in a quick trot, his nose full of her luscious cat scent, his hunger for her increasing.

Star keeps running, though her pace has slowed quite a bit; she was already a little tired when he pulled her from her classroom, and that plus the earlier pursuit is starting to wear on her. She settles into a slower but more comfortable pace, despite the cat-self which still wants to _get away_.

She ignores its fear; she _wants_ to be caught. Even if she has no clue _how_ he will catch her - she’s not keen on feeling those teeth of his sinking into her - or what he’ll do when he does. Something deliciously evil, knowing him. 

And yet, he’d called her a tease, hadn’t he? A _sweet_ tease, in fact. Well, she sees no reason to give in easily. Let him _work_ for what he wants. He may have won their little wager - _maybe_ \- but Star thinks he’ll find collecting his ‘prize’ to be a whole new challenge. Maybe she can turn her cat-self’s fear and reflexes to some advantage.

A howl curls through the forest, coming from behind her, and she shivers in delight, even as she continues to run, and to plot how best to resist. <Come and get me, big boy.> she purrs back at him, taunting. 

Loki moves on, each step quicker than the last, and his stride becomes the easy, graceful run of the hunter as he scans ahead. His pet is just in sight, and adrenaline makes him shoot forward in a burst of predatory speed, swerving to the right and catching her flank as they both reach the far edge of the forest where a glade opens up, bathed in moonlight. His pet twists and snarls, her claws whipping out to rake his muzzle but the minute she touches him they both shift, tumbling to the thick grass in a clash of bare, pale limbs.

He knows Star is caught between cat-fear and human desire, so Loki pins her under his body, his teeth lightly nipping the side of her neck, his hot breath against her skin as he growls. She struggles, squirming under him, her hips rocking as she gives a warning hiss of her own, eyes wide and glittering. 

He’s on top of her, his body heavy and nearly smothering her. Her nails dig into his shoulders but can’t penetrate his skin, don’t leave any marks at all - she may as well be clawing at marble - and she pushes against his hip with her foot, trying to work herself out from underneath him, but she can’t get free.

Damn, he’s so fucking _strong_. She growls, turning her head away when he tries to take her mouth with his. She can feel him, hard and pulsing against her thigh, and even though she wants him, even though an answering heat is quickly rising inside her belly, she twists as far away as possible. “If you want me, Liesmith,” she hisses through gritted teeth, “you’re going to have to  tame me. If you can.” She laughs mockingly at him, turning her head now to the other side to evade his kiss. 

Pinning her body is simple, but catching her mouth for a kiss is more difficult. Loki persists, finally nipping her lower lip with his teeth, making it impossible for his pet to shift her face away. He opens his mouth, letting his lips and tongue wet her skin, tasting the flavors he knows so well. They’re wild kisses--not so much romance as hunger, and when he lets his teeth worry her earlobe, his hot breath tickling her, Star’s body yields a bit, even if her mind does not.

“Why would I want to _tame_ you?” he demands with a low laugh. “You are at your best just as you are, little toy--fighting _yourself_ far more than you are fighting me. You’re a wicked thing full of passion and hunger that you keep locked up away while you live your Midgardian life. With ME you can be as cruel and spirited and lustful as you like. And that’s the way I prefer you, my pet. Sooner or later you _will_ open your thighs to me because we are both driven hard by our desires!”   
He feels her nipples grazing his chest and reaches to rub one, flashing his white teeth when she arches up, her eyes half-closed and hazy with lust.

Star swallows a groan and fights to steel herself against his caresses, difficult as that task is. No, she’s not going to give in that easily! She turns her next noise into a low laugh. “That’s all you’ve got? _Really_? I think I’ve become immune to your silver tongue.” She catches at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away from her breast but it does no good, she can’t budge him an inch. He chuckles low in her ear at her fruitless efforts and tweaks her nipple.

She struggles to stay with her plan. “You call me wicked, but you have _no_ idea how much. You only think you do,” she hisses into his ear, fighting back another gasp. She reaches down between them until she finds the surging curve of his shaft, then rakes her fingernails along it, harder than she would usually dare. He shudders, and she can feel the groan he tries to stop against her throat.

“Perhaps I should demonstrate the depths of my wickedness? I wonder how easily you will find it to conquer me if I deprive you of your . . . weapon,” she continues in a low purr, now wrapping her fingers around his length and stroking, her movements light and teasing for the moment. “You may have won our wager, but whether you will win _this_ battle remains to be seen, ice prince,” she observes mockingly.

Loki ignores her words, focusing more on how responsive her body is under him. He lets his hands slide over her torso in insistent caresses, and fights a smile when her thighs begin to part, accommodating his hips. He slips his hands around her wrists, pulling her arms up and noses his way around her breasts, pleased to find her nipples hard and sensitive under his tongue. The sweet scent of the grass and the glow of the moonlight add to the wildness of the night, and he shifts himself, rubbing the underside of his shaft against his pet’s belly.   
“Goood,” he croons softly, cutting into the flow of her words. “This is us and it is right, my beloved.”

Her heart skips a beat at his words - there it is that _love_ thing again - but she doesn’t answer, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to catch her breath. Her pulse hammers on in her ears, a sharp ache building between her thighs as he pins her arms down - how she does so adore being restrained by him - and his teeth on her nipple make her push back a groan.

_ Not yet,  _ she reminds herself, tightening her legs around his hips, resisting still. His skin is hot, his long hair is tickling her, and the grass under them both is soft. She forces herself to focus on those things, these tiny distractions, in an effort to put off the inevitable.

Loki moves from one breast to the other, then gives a pleased sigh. “For delights such as these I might even forgo having you on your knees.” He hides his grin at her splutter of outrage, and moves to shift both her wrists to one of his hands even as the other slips between their bodies and slides to cup her fluffy mound. The move makes her protest die away, particularly when one of his fingers strokes the seam of her lips lightly.

“And now I shall _tame_ you, I think.”

Star shudders, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. His finger presses deeper between her folds, but only slightly. He’s such a tease. _Fuck it_ , she decides. The chase has been fun, but it’s time to end it -- she wants more. Wants _him_. 

His thumb slides lightly over her nub and she jerks, moaning. “And just how . . . do you intend . . . to do that, my Lord?” she asks breathlessly.

Loki purrs, the rumble of his pleasure against the sensitive skin along the side of her throat, and as he does so, he slides his finger into her, the ball of his thumb barely skating over her most sensitive spot with perfect pressure. He feels her resistance soften, knows that her lust is moving from simmer to boil. It’s perfection, this moment of shift, and his cock throbs hard, pressing against the inside of her thigh, eagerly.

“Whatever Loki wants, Loki gets,” he tells her, his voice coaxing and sweet. His pet is slick and hot under his fingers, and the scent of her has him on a keen edge.

A high-pitched whimper escapes her. “If Loki wants . . . me to come my brains out . . . he’s getting . . . close,” she manages somehow to pant. Something tells her that’s the last coherent sentence she’ll be uttering for awhile. 

Her body is trying to arch up against his hand, seeking _more_ , more pressure, more contact, and her head is twisting helplessly back and forth, flattening the long stems of grass around her. It’s useless, between his hand on her wrists and his body on hers he’s got her pinned. The hunter has trapped his prey, and now can do with her whatever he wishes.

He caresses her, rides out the first of her orgasms with infinite gentleness as Star writhes under him, the long muscles of her neck beautiful in the moonlight. When she slumps and tries to catch her breath, Loki shifts and slides his prick into her in one deep stroke, groaning with pleasure at her heat.

He moves slowly, deliberately, making sure to let each thrust build on the last, and when he feels his pet’s arousal rise again, Loki reaches down between them once more, his fingertips dancing sweetly against her nub, bringing forth yet another orgasm that rises sharply and breaks with her little cries like bird notes in the dark woods.

The feel of her need, of her muscles clenching around him is too sweet to last and Loki lets himself come long moments later, the rush of his seed thick, hot and seemingly endless. Star’s legs clutch at him, and her body molds to his in the cool grass.

After a time she feels Loki pulling out and rolling over to lie next to her. She waits until her heart stops pounding and her breathing slows before she moves, though she reaches for his hand for the duration, silently grateful when his fingers entwine with hers.

It’s cool in the forest at night, however, and she soon rolls to face him, pressing herself against the heat of him to stop her shivering. The breeze carries also the scent of their act, swirling it around her; it’s tinged with blood, and she can’t help a wince. She’d forgotten all about _that_ \- Loki had been distracting her pretty effectively! - but she reminds herself that if it doesn’t bother him, why should it bother her? 

“Did I manage to make it a _challenge_ for you to find me, at least?” she asks dryly.

“A delightfully enjoyable one--at least for me,” Loki replies his gaze up into the dark sky beyond the trees. “You have quite an imagination, sweet one, and make a lovely dragon.”

The ghostly hands fly through the forest, bringing robes to them, and Loki reaches for one to wrap around her, tucking it in carefully.

She smirks. “Thanks, I try.” Star snuggles into the robe - it’s warm like it just came out of a dryer, though she doubts Loki has anything like that here in his realm - and then remembers something she’d meant to say to him earlier, though all their cat-and-mouse antics had side-tracked her until now. 

“I also want to say thanks for something else . . . I don’t know how you did it, but thank you for fixing my office door. You know, the one the were wrecked? I certainly wasn’t looking forward to having to explain _that_ to the administration!” Remembering the were makes her shiver all over again and she burrows herself deeper into the robe, and tighter against Loki’s body.

“Thor may have the hammer, but I have a few woodworking skills of my own,” he murmurs indulgently. “And I have no wish for you to suffer the questions or accusations of others--you do not deserve that added aggravation.” He slips an arm around her and adds, “I never realized how beautiful this little realm is, until you showed me. Thank you for _that_ , my pet.”

She smiles. “You’re welcome. But since you made it, I think you ought to get full credit.” Star slides her hands around his neck, guiding his face down to hers for a kiss. Then she hesitates, remembering now the _other_ thing she’d been thinking about mentioning to him. “I have something else I want to ask you, but . . . I don’t know if I should.”

He pulls back a little and nods at her encouragingly, and Star bites her lip, wondering if she should go on. It’s so difficult to predict how he’ll react sometimes. Will he laugh? Tell her she’s being needy? Get offended?

_ Only one way to find out. _ She takes a deep breath. “Sometimes it’s . . . hard for me. Waiting for you, I mean.” She pauses, searching for the right way to say what she feels. How she wishes that she possessed his legendary skill with words! “I worry that something might have happened to you. I mean, I know you’re fighting battles and carrying out schemes, and I guess it would just ease my mind a bit if I knew that you were OK, that I’m not seeing you because you’re busy, and not because you’re chained under a serpent somewhere for all eternity.”

His brow furrows but Star barrels on before he can interrupt. “So, I don’t know, you seem to have a lot of magical rocks and whatnot. Maybe you could ensorcel one, a small one I can hide easily, and if you’re OK, it’ll be coloured green, or something, and if you’re in trouble, it’ll turn red? I don’t know, something like that?”

It sounds a lot more moronic than it seemed when it was just some half-formed idea in her mind. Now that it’s hanging in the air between them, she can feel herself blushing. _Oh yeah, you don’t sound needy at all!_ she taunts herself. Never mind the fact that yes, she’ll feel much better if many weeks pass and the stone stays green . . .

But what the fuck is she supposed to do -- and how will she feel -- if it turns **red**?

Loki smiles, and reaches to brush a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You move me, little one, and I am touched by your care. Such a request is impossible to refuse, and I too will feel better knowing that you are watching out for me. I will create a stone for you that will reflect my presence; fainter color, further away, brighter color, look around you, yes? And if I am in trouble . . . I wouldn’t want to worry you with that, sweet pet. Not for the nine realms would I bring danger to you . . . or yours.”

It’s hard to add that last. Her child he would never harm either, but the mate . . . the mate is something to be tolerated at best, and ignored for the most part.

Star frowns and pushes at Loki’s shoulder until he rolls on his back, and then she climbs to straddle him. “No,” she says firmly, looking down into his face. “I mean, yes, that fainter-brighter feature would be nice, but I DO want to know if you’re in trouble. You already told me last time I was here that one way or the other, I’m always going to be in some degree of danger so long as I’m with you. So I’m afraid that’s already the case, whether you want it or not.” She takes a breath as inspiration strikes. “Besides, if I know you’re in danger, then I can try to get help. Though you’ll have to tell me who - and _how_ \- to contact.”

Loki scowls. He’s moved by her concern but for all her brave words she is still but one small Midgardian. The thought of his pet trying to contact anyone in Asgard is ridiculous, and he doubts anyone on Midgard would take her seriously either. Not unless the token he makes for her is indisputable. He draws in a deep breath. “Pretty one, it would be a great risk. Think carefully on this, because you would not be the only one in danger should you choose to be on my side.”

He watches her consider the matter for a moment, caught up in the way she bites her lip, and the quick brightness of her gaze.

“I’m _sleeping_ with you, and I think by default that puts me on your side,” she points out. “Also I fail to see how having a coloured rock will put me or my family in greater danger. Maybe it depends on who you would have me go to for help? I know you’re not on the best terms with Thor, but he _did_ put Earth under his protection, so if I had a way to contact him, I don’t think he’d hurt me. And you can’t tell me that if it came down to spending eternity chained under poison, or accepting help from Thor, you’d pick poison! I think you and I both know that Thor would do anything to help you, if he thought you needed it.” She braces herself for his anger.

“You fail to see how it would put you or your family in danger, even though a werebeast tore through your office?” Loki murmurs. “Toy of mine, you are unique.” He pulls her to him and rubs his nose with hers. “And as for accepting help from Thor, I grant you that there _is_ a bond there, estranged as it is. He does love this strange ball of mud and all the Midgardians here, whereas I love only one. Still, I can give you a stone that can summon him easily enough, along with one to show you my life essence, if that is what you desire. It is comforting to think that you . . . care,” he finishes slowly, not wanting to put her in an awkward position.

“Stop insulting my planet. I’m fond of it; it’s where I keep all my stuff,” she responds almost absently. His words have finally sunk in -- it isn’t just her life on the line, but her family’s. “Explain it to me, because I don’t understand - how would this be dangerous to my family or myself? You were pretty keen to have me wear your collar 24/7 back on Earth, and you didn’t seem concerned about painting a target on me then. What’s different this time? I can’t make a good decision unless I have all the facts.”

He laughs. “The collar has no magic to it--it’s merely a beautiful ornament for an equally beautiful woman, and all the mysticism is symbolic, pet. But the stones you are asking for _would_ have magic in them, and could be used as beacons by anyone making a serious effort to find traces of me. I can put a veil over it, but it would not be completely foolproof since there are a few fools after me. Nine times you would be protected, the tenth you would not.”

“Shit,” she mutters, rubbing distractedly at the back of her neck. So she either has to sacrifice her peace of mind, or she has to (potentially) sacrifice her family. _You’re cheating on your husband,_ she reminds herself darkly, _so who said you’re entitled to peace of mind anyway-_

Star can feel a sudden wetness between her legs, and the scent of blood becomes much stronger. She winces. “Uh, maybe we need to move this indoors? Or at least get me back my underwear? Because, uh, I’m pretty sure I’m leaking on you.”

“Certainly,” Loki agrees with gentleness. “Whatever you need, my pet.”

True to his word he rises and picks her up, letting her settle her head against his shoulder as he walks back through the moonlit woods towards the distant hall. As Loki does so, he speaks again. “When first we began this sweet madness I did not know if I could tolerate you being bonded to another, but you have proven your loyalty to me, and he is not a threat to my time with or comfort from you, sweet puss. I understand the ties of duty, and I know it is difficult not to take him or your child into consideration on these matters. Perhaps it would be best if the stone was put in a place where you could see it, but it would not be _on_ you. The eye of a statue, or gem in a piece of art perhaps. Something you could have in your office away from home and hearth.”

“Hmm,” she muses, sliding her arms around his lean torso in a hug. “It’s too bad Nokia doesn’t have long-distance service across the Nine Realms. That wouldn’t need magic! . . .  I suppose keeping the stone at my office could work, at least during the semester when I’m there so often, but on summer break I’m not usually there much. Not once I finish creating my new course, anyway.” 

She frowns, drumming her fingers lightly on his skin as she thinks. “I don’t know much about how magic works, but could we reduce the risk by making it so that the stone is ‘off’, unless you are in danger? If it only triggers when you’re in trouble - and I only turn the summoning stone on if and when I need it - then both stones would not be ‘on’ for very long or very often.” _I hope_ , she adds to herself. “Would that make it harder for somebody to detect them? If they weren’t actively ‘giving off’ magic all the time?” She has no idea if she’s making any sense; she doesn’t have the necessary vocabulary to discuss matters magical, or so she fears. 

They reach the hall and Loki carries her in, setting her gently on the bed. “A command stone would be best. Only if you speak my name aloud would it shine and reveal my presence. Should you say my brother’s name, it would let you speak to him. The magic would be stored and strong, but become active only after your words. Would this do?”

As he speaks, Loki has his ghostly hands bring bowls of hot water and clean towels; he dips one and wrings it out, folding it over and giving it to his pet with a little smile.

She smiles back and wriggles out of the stained robe, setting it aside and cleaning herself, though she pretends to ignore Loki watching her as she does so. “So long as nobody can detect them if they’re ‘off’, I don’t see the problem. Someone would have to be looking for them at the precise moment I’m using them, and I imagine the chances of that would be small. But like I said before, the ‘presence detector’ would be fine, but the main thing is I want to know is that you’re OK. I’m going to _insist_ on that ‘feature’.” She turns her head and pins him with her most commanding glare as she passes the cloth off to a ghostly attendant.

“Which of us is the pet here?” he teases, although Loki finds himself warmed by her clear concern for him. He considers giving her a stone that only projects green--after all, his life is still a dangerous one, and giving her further cause to worry would be cruel. The minute it crosses his mind, though, Loki rejects it. His pet trusts him, and he finds himself loathe to give her any reason not to.

He gently pushes her on her back and runs a warmed hand over her abdomen, stroking long soothing touches to comfort her. “Very well, you shall have your stone before our time together is through. Be aware though, that it will _not_ summon me.”

She sighs. “I know.” 

It’s probably for the best, too. If she could summon him at will . . .she shakes her head slightly. That can only complicate her life - _lives_ \- even further.

Instead, Star smiles archly up at him and reaches to trail her fingertips down the centre of his chest, moving slowly lower, lower. “Allow me to express my . . . _gratitude,_ my Lord.”

“Please do,” Loki replies, trying to sound magnanimous, but there’s a catch in his throat as he watches her hands caressing him. There is something more than sweet about her touch, something wicked and hungry and compelling in her little smile. He feels himself swell against her fingers and it’s hard to seem unmoved by her toyings.

Star grins as his length twitches under her touch. She kisses his lips greedily, her hand busy stroking him, tracing the bumpy surface of veins.

She pushes lightly at his hip to roll him onto his back, then gently nips and licks her way down until he’s throbbing against her cheek. A glance up at him confirms he’s watching, enraptured by her actions, and Star suppresses a grin.

The taste of his skin fuels her passion as her mouth engulfs him, tongue swirling. Star pulls back slowly, his heavy breathing music to her ears, then she pauses to tease the head, teeth nibbling gently at the ridge at its base. 

He fights a gasp, caught between the thrill of her lips around his prick, and the rush of pleasure in watching her do so. The sight of her this way plays on all his desires in the hardest, basest ways, and Loki admits that his pet is a sensual expert at arousing him. He rises up, elbows behind him, his gaze riveted on her. “Witch. That tongue of yours is the most luscious weapon I have ever had turned upon me.”

It’s amusing to watch her grin as she peeks around his shaft, her gaze the very personification of mischief itself, her look speaks volumes about her intentions. Loki manages to summon the ghostly hands, and directs them to stroke her ass, directing their fingers to tease and gently tickle her in an effort to level the mattress, as it were.

She shudders as the ghost-fingers play and probe. Even though privately she would prefer _his_ hands, she can’t find much fault with their efforts. What feels like at least two pairs of them are kneading her rounded cheeks, another set of fingers is skimming lightly along the damp entrance to her sex, and yet another pair skates teasingly across the tight pucker of her ass. She gasps around him, and Loki smirks down at her indulgently.

With a last curling brush of her tongue, she pulls back and wraps her hand around his slickened shaft, then moves her lips lower to caress his balls. Trying her best not to be distracted by what the hands are doing to her, she amuses herself drawing words on the tightly-drawn skin of his balls with the very tip of her tongue - first his various pet-names for her, then the name they both agreed on using for her in his realm - _Star_ \- and finally, her real name, the one she uses back home among her fellow humans. Though Loki’s never called her by that particular name. 

She pauses and exhales softly on his wet skin, looking up at him again. His gaze is afire with lust, and a low, barely-audible growl vibrates through the planes of his chest. Though she is not silent either, whimpering now as one of the ghostly fingers circles her sensitive nub with a touch light as a feather.

He’s not going to be able to hold back for long, she guesses. With a knowing smile, she releases him and waves the ghostly hands away, turning until she is facing away from him, on all fours on the soft fur coverlet with her knees spread wide to give him a good view. 

“I seem to recall you wanted me on my knees, my Prince,” she reminds him, speaking to him over her shoulder in her most sultry tone. “Will this do?” She lets her hips wriggle suggestively as she braces her hands on the footboard of the bed. Just in case he chooses to _pounce_.

His answering growl is followed by precisely that, and Loki shifts, moving to cup her hips in his hands, letting his prick slide between her thighs and against her fur in a teasing stroke. “Oh what a good pet you _are_ ,” he rasps, and commands the ghostly hands to play with her breasts.

For a moment he lets only the tip of his cock breach her, but the slick heat is too tempting and it’s been too long. Loki drives himself deep in one stroke, his breath raw and his eyes closing as the pleasure flares through his hungry body. Under him he feels Star clench, her gasp turning into a long, sweet moan and the sound is enough to goad him on.

He takes her, hard. The rhythm of their bodies speeds up, and every thrust forward maddens Loki’s lust. It’s lush and fast, the slick mating of beasts and given his pet’s howls, precisely what they both _need_ at the moment. Dimly Loki is aware of his orgasm building and he forces himself to slow, to slide one sweaty hand around Star’s hip to reach between her legs. The wetness makes it easy to find the stiff little nub and he lets his fingertip rub it.

She shudders, slamming back against his hips, and the sweet, sweet squeeze is too much for him.

Star is drowning, overcome by sensation, but she doesn’t care -- it just feels too damned good. The evil little hands are twisting and tugging expertly at her nipples, with Loki thrusting into her hard enough to hurt, but it’s the best possible kind of hurt, even if she’s sure there’ll be visible bruises on her hips after.  
   
When he begins rubbing between her legs, that’s enough to push her right over the cliff. Her whole body seizes, impossibly freezing and melting all at once. Loki’s peak follows right on hers, his roar loud enough to make her ears ring as his motions shudder to a stop, though she’ll swear later that she felt every individual pulse of his climax, moving into her like waves crashing on a beach.

Her arms give out and she collapses onto the bed with Loki’s weight on top of her, sweat and sound mingling as they pant together in tandem, bodies shivering with shared delight.

After a while, Loki rises up on his knuckles, kisses the damp sweetness at the back of his pet’s neck, and hums a note that makes the slick of blood, sweat and semen evaporate off the fur quilt under them. The ghostly hands sponge them both off, and when it’s all done, Loki curls up with Star under the quilt, wrapping a protective arm around her and soothing her sleepy murmurs. “Rest--I will turn back enough time so you will not be missed, my toy.” 

As she dozes, Loki considers again how fortunate he has been in finding such a lover, and how well-suited they are despite so many differences. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Loki misses Star enough to bring her to him on Niflheim. . . maybe not the best idea, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Loki is legally the property of Marvel. I say give him to us! Marvel is under-utilizing him!  
> Authors’ Note: Sorry for the long delay! This has actually been written for awhile (as is the next chapter and a half!), but a combo of busy lives and health issues has gotten in the way of posting sooner. As a consolation prize, though, it’s a longer chapter than usual, and with a lot of angsty goodness. Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Banner made by **cincoflex**!

Precious One,

I hope that the Snaakestein I left with you is working properly, and through it you will receive this missive, although I won’t know until you respond to it. At the moment I am a guest of the Jotunn court on the far side of Niflheim, far from the gaze of Heimdall and Asgard proper. The regent here, Privaldr, is hoping I will give him information in exchange for refuge, and I am considering it.

I am vexed, however, by an encompassing field that limits my magic, and until I find the source and destroy it, I will have to rely on my wiles and wit for as long as I remain a guest. Privaldir may play games and pretend he does not know how this works, but I know better. In the meantime I long for you. My host has offered a variety of slaves to amuse me--females and males from different worlds, all trained, he says, in the ways of pleasure, guaranteed to make my visit memorable. My reputation precedes me, apparently, but I have declined his offers, annoyed at the thought of wasting time with any of them.

My tastes are more diverse than he would ever know, aren’t they? My confinement here--and make no mistake, it truly IS a confinement--is becoming tiresome, and I hunger to be with you instead of here in this fortress of rock and frost. I can play the game of charming guest during the days, but nights without my pet are tiresome and dare I admit it--lonely.

There is a large collection of scrolls in the library here, and deep in a cupboard I have found several that amuse me. They are quaintly erotic in nature, with illustrations that would make my thick brother blush, of course. He is no prude, but as I have told you, he has not imagination either. Give him wrist locks or a muzzle and Thor sees them only as the tools of justice and not as toys to be enjoyed in the bedroom. I have found muzzles to be particularly vexing myself--I who hold the title of Silver-tongued could be driven to sweet madness when denied the chance to kiss or taste you, my little lover.

I suppose you would enjoy tormenting me that way, hmmm? It will do you no good to deny it, Pet. Deep within you lies a streak of sensual cruelty that works its charm on my oh-too-willing flesh at times. It arouses and amuses me when you claim my throne and order me about in your sweet kitten way. And a muzzle would only mean I would have to rely on my fingers to make your body dance to my stroking touch before submitting to my stroking prick.

Torment on top of torment not to have you here! I will double my efforts to find a way around Privaldr’s field and throw the blame elsewhere. Should I manage to slip my magic through its net, I will bring you here and introduce you as my consort, and dress you as such of course. my host will probably try to charm you away from me, but he will fail.

You are mine, now and always.

Loki

 

My Dearest Lord,

Thank you for your message. I was very surprised and pleased to receive it -- I was not aware that you had put that ‘feature’ into the stone as well! 

It moves me deeply that you are choosing to indulge yourself only with me. Especially given my life circumstances, which cannot allow me to make the same promise to you at this time. And I am also moved that you are sharing more about your current circumstances and schemes with me, though also surprised - what led you to change your mind? Up until now you have usually preferred to keep such aspects of your life out of our time together.

I long for you as well, my Prince. Should you find a way to bring me there, I will indeed be happy to ‘entertain’ you. Though I would hope that, as usual, I will not be missed back here on Earth. I admit the thought of seeing another Realm both intrigues and frightens me, even though I have complete faith that you will see to my safety if need be. 

You know well my Lord that I am always pleased to switch places with you and warm your throne. You are right, I will not deny that I enjoy it, even if my usual preference is the reverse. But I will only enjoy it if do, of course. If being muzzled intrigues you, I am happy to indulge you. In return, perhaps you will return the favour at some future point . . . with or without the ‘wrist-locks’ at the same time. ;)

I will indeed be interested to see how well you can please me with just those wicked fingers of yours. And what noises I can gain from your silenced lips. Perhaps we should employ some toys to that effect -- maybe your treasured flogger, my ice prince?

I eagerly await your next message, or preferably your summons.

Your Star

 

Pet of mine—

That you have heard me, and now I have heard you is a good sign indeed; Privaldr’s field is not as extensive as I thought. Even now I am listening and watching, keeping alert as to where he might have his source of power. I suspect it will not be as difficult as I first imagined to dampen its influence since it must use enormous power to keep me in check, and very little stays secret once my curiosity is aroused. (something you know, don’t you my pet?)

If I manage to subvert the field, I want to bring you here. The problem is that I cannot be sure that I can control the timeline from this distance. I *should* be able to, but I cannot promise it, my Star, so I need to know if you are willing to cross this void with little notice and no assurance that you will not be missed in your other life. Magic favors me, and even if I cannot reverse time now, I will be able to once we return.

I go now to see if the locked door at the end of the chancellor’s hall leads to the power source. If it does, we shall see what mischief I can wreak upon it!

I await you.

Loki

 

My generous Lord,

So long as the timeline can be fixed in the end, I see no reason not to join you. I long for your touch. As you recall, I was in my ‘courses’ the last time we met, and now I am in my fertile phase, a time when I am often more lustful than usual! If you found me insatiable before, you may well find me . . .utterly so when next we meet. You may require all your considerable skill (and perhaps some small measure of your magic) to satisfy me this time!

Indeed, once I heard of your intention to bring me to you, I could hardly contain myself. I found an excuse to be alone, and then . . . I could not resist the urge to undress and touch myself while thinking of you. Pinching my nipples while imagining it was your teeth doing so, rubbing my clit and sliding my fingers inside myself, fantasizing that it was your tongue instead, tickling and savoring me . . .I hope you will not be displeased that I was unable to resist the urge to make myself climax.

I think you will find me eager to bring some distraction to your nights on Niflheim. I have faith that my God of Mischief will find a way to bring me to him. :)

Your Star

 

__________________________________________________________________

In the end it took only a small amount of cunning and a magically conjured puddle to disrupt the field, and Loki managed to be elsewhere when it happened. Witnesses vouched for his presence, so the Regent had no firm accusation to make, but he had to acknowledge he’d been bested, despite it all. 

Not that it mattered, per se. Loki knew well that the Regent feared him, and sought to placate him during this visit. That was the reason for the offer of the slaves of course, along with the sumptuous banquets each night, and the hunts during the day. These offers had their charms of course, but there was nothing novel in them, and as a prince, Loki had lived a richer life than this in Asgard.

The only aspect he did miss was the freedom to indulge himself with his pet. One of the offered slaves reminded him of his Star, and he’d been tempted for a moment to dally with her, but the vapid fear in her eyes shattered any impulse he’d had in that direction. He’d become ensnared by his pet’s ability to challenge him; her boldness and her free emotions. 

And she was more than able to keep up with him on any bed, of course. Not many partners could, Loki admitted to himself in a moment of reflective honesty. Therefore after the last of the evening meal, he excused himself with elaborate courtesy, presenting the Regent with a ruby the size of an eagle’s eye, and made his way to the bedchamber, concentrating on the energy patterns that would be needed to bring his pet across the void and into his arms. He knew them by heart, but the degree of power they would require would take more effort than Loki had ever used before, and he worried for a moment about the risk.

It would be worth it, he told himself. SHE was always worth it.

__________________________________________________________________

Loki’s ‘summons’ came at exactly the right moment, as far as Star was concerned. Even though she’d reminded herself that if she was missed, Loki would eventually be able to reverse it, she still inevitably felt guilty at the thought of disappearing at a time that would lead to her abandoning her child at daycare at the end of a workday. Or at a time when her husband would notice. He was a good man, and he would worry, and even if the event was later erased, the thought of putting him through anything unpleasant did not sit well with her. 

Bad enough she was cheating on him, even if Loki’s particular talents ensured that no time was stolen from her family.

But no, her vision whited out at exactly the perfect moment. She’d just arrived at work, and she had her first class at  10:00am . Many hours remained before her family would miss her if she vanished. And the class she had this morning was one of her least favourite ones. Oh, the topic was fun, but the students were mostly disinterested, despite her best efforts to ‘edutain’. So if she disappeared without canceling class and they all wound up sitting there for a while wondering if she was coming, well . . . much as she hated to admit it, she did have something of a vindictive streak.

So as Loki’s magic enfolds her, Star smiles and blinks the dazzle out of her eyes, then takes in a startled breath. “Holy crap,” she murmurs. The room is larger than her office, and decorated even more lavishly than Loki’s hall. Massive stone pillars line both sides of the room, with huge windows that must be at least three stories tall visible between each pair, and the view outside is breath-taking, of snow-capped mountains. 

Star shakes her head in wonderment and turns her gaze to the far end of the room, past several large pieces of elaborately filigreed furniture. At the other end of the room is a massive bed that has to be as large as her bedroom at home, and draped with enough silks and gauzy fabrics to fill a store.

Loki lounges on the bed, radiating smugness, though even at this distance she can see he’s paler than usual and the lines on his forehead are deep.

It must have taken a lot out of him to bring her here. Well, she certainly plans to make it worth his while!

She covers the distance between them quickly and silently on her sneakers - she feels under-dressed! - before toeing them off and crawling up on the high bed with him.

“Hi.” She smiles and reaches out to him, rubbing her fingers gently across his brow. His eyes fall shut for a moment, and Star takes the opportunity to look at him. He’s not wearing his usual armour, though she supposes it would be rude for a ‘guest’ to be dressed for combat. He’s wearing a tunic of a velvety green fabric, embroidered with serpents in gold and silver thread, though he’s still wearing his usual leather pants, and probably nothing underneath, if she’s learned anything about him at all.

She smirks at the thought, then looks up to find him watching her. He reaches for her, threading his fingers through the belt-loops of her jeans and pulling her closer.

“Little witch, it took a great deal of magic to bring you,” he accuses fondly, nuzzling her temple. “Still, here you are; no small testament to my obstinate nature. Are you well? No effects from the travel?”

Before she can speak or protest or do more than splutter, Loki kisses her, taking his time and her breath as he does so. Kissing is underrated, he thinks. Too many Asgardians rush through the little games that come before mating, and miss out on the sweet pleasures that help to build the moment. Matters like kissing. Loki enjoys his pet’s taste, the feel of her kitten tongue circling his as he pulls her closer. There is a flavor to her mouth that sharpens his desire, a faintly addictive feminine sweetness. She relaxes into his kiss, her hands cupping his face all the better to kiss back, and they break only for a quick breath before kissing again.

It’s enough to make his pulse jump, and already strong throbs are moving along his prick, making it stiffen in anticipation. He laughs mid-kiss, and she does too, aware of their lust, their flaring desire. When Loki holds her gaze, he sees her pupils are dark and wide as she smiles.

“We are mad for each other and so made for each other,” he whispers before tipping his head to nip her pretty lower lip. The gasp Star makes sends another rush between his thighs, and he growls this time, feeling possessive and happy. 

She sighs and kisses him again, savouring the faint flavour of wine on his tongue, then leans back and strips off her black shirt. He looks on with obvious interest; she made sure to wear her sexiest black lace bra-and-panty set today, on the off-chance his summons came today. It’s a demi-cup, push-up bra, and although there’s no force on Earth that’ll give her any kind of cleavage, it does show her off well. 

“I’m fine, and I don’t know if you got my last letter,” she purrs, “but I suppose you could say I’m ‘in heat’ right now . . .so you’d better brace yourself, my Lord.” She smiles and drops a hand to the crotch of his pants. She caresses the stiffened curve, reaching at the same time to pop the button on her jeans with her free hand. “Missed me, did you?”

“Whatever makes you think that?” Loki replies with mock-lightness. “The fact that I pulled you across the galaxy with consummate skill and finesse?” The heat in her eyes makes him want to laugh, and the richly feminine scent of her skin confirms her blatant interest in him at the moment. “Someone seems pleased to see me.” 

This time his pet pouts a bit, and he forces himself to keep a straight face as she moves to straddle his hips, pushing him back against the pillows.

He’s teasing her; she’s sure he knows exactly what she wants, but it’s clear he’s going to make her wait. Well, she’ll just have to get him as hot and bothered as she is right now.

“Uh, _duh_? Yeah, you’ve got an ‘obstinate nature’ indeed,” she retorts. “I need to get you a tee-shirt with that written on it.” It’s her turn to swallow his reply with her lips, her tongue aggressively plunging into his mouth this time as she grinds herself in slow circles against the bulge in his pants, hips rocking.

She breaks off the kiss as her oxygen starts to run out, but gives his chin a hard nip and then twists her head to the side, leaning to take his earlobe tightly between her teeth. His cool fingers stroke her back, sending shivers along her spine as he purrs. At one point his fingertips toy with the clasp of her bra but he doesn’t open it, only adding to her frustration, her grinding motions against him increasing in pressure.

Star bites back an annoyed sound at his stalling and leans away, her fingers now searching for a way to open the tunic. But there’s no obvious fastener, no zipper or lacing or buttons that she can find, just soft fabric and slightly rough embroidery. Finally she gives up, doing her best not to snap at him when she witnesses his predictably infuriating smirk. Oh yes, he’s enjoying this way too much for her taste.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, my Prince,” she finally informs him, her voice a growl as she scrapes none-too-gentle nails across the expanse of his neck above his collar.

“It’s a colder climate,” he reminds her, but obligingly pulls the tunic over his head and lets it drop, not caring where it lands. “Although you do seem to have your fair share of heat.”

Loki slides hands along her shoulders, concentrating and in an instant his pet is gloriously nude except for her pretty collar, while across the room her clothes rematerialize, neatly draped along a chair near one of the windows. She seems to appreciate this bit of magic, and laughs.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Loki tugs her up while he slides himself lower, slipping further down along the mattress until she’s arched over his shoulders and all he can see is the lovely sight of her sex above his face, warm and sweetly scented, barely a tongue’s flick away from a kiss. He hears her gasp and try to keep her balance even as his hands slide up the backs of her thighs in a caress and support.

“How I’ve _missed_ this,” he muses, and lightly mouths her fur. It pleases him how she shudders above him. “Ah. I see you have too.”

“Gee, ya think?” she quips, though it turns into a yelp as his tongue swirls lazily. Star grips onto the headboard for dear life, warmth gathering in her core and spreading out into her limbs with every darting touch. 

She’s _so_ ready to give in to climax, and he must sense it because he backs off, nibbling gently at the edges of her outer folds. Star tries to move, to press down on him, to get him to touch her the way she so desperately needs, but he’s too strong and she can feel his chuckle feathering against her thigh.

“Bastard,” she rasps indignantly. Fine, two can play _that_ game. She reaches back with one hand - it’s not easy, she’s short and he’s so _not_ \- and palms his erection. It’s his turn to groan, and hers to chuckle.

She makes short work of the complicated lacing of his trousers (she’s had a lot of practice by now) and pulls his length free, stroking lightly with fingers and palm.

“Keep going,” Loki murmurs against the inside of her thigh, his words slightly muffled against her skin. He suspects she’ll pull back just for pique, but it hardly matters since he intends to distract her. Nuzzling his way back up, Loki laps again, his tongue circling her clit, settling in at the perfect pace to make her come. His pet does, moments later, shuddering against the hands bracing the backs of her thighs, making him feel both smug and doubly aroused now. 

Star catches her breath and tries to shift, but Loki tightens his grip, making a sound of protest. His teeth lightly nibble at her still-stiff button, moving with extreme gentleness against her tenderest spot. Then he blows a breath on it, feeling his pet shiver once more.  


Star gasps at the icy sensation, her nails digging into his hip. _He wants to make me come again?_ Not that she’s resistant to that idea. 

This is not the most comfortable position, however, especially while trying to reach backwards to tease him. Ignoring his protests she rolls sideways until she’s kneeling next to him, now facing his feet. “Patience, ice prince,” she lilts at his disappointed expression, though the sight of his lips gleaming from _her_ pleases Star immensely.

She straddles him again in this new way, enjoying his pleased, lusty laugh as he realizes her aim. His hands gently curl around her hips, drawing her backwards over his mouth again. Her hand seeks out the dark curls around his shaft, combing gently through them before she moistens her lips and slides him into her mouth.

His groan vibrates against her folds and she wriggles, humming around him in response. It’s a challenge, trying to concentrate on pleasuring him while he’s pleasuring her, but it’s an enjoyable one. She wraps her hand around the base, licking long strokes along the length of him, before taking him as deep inside her mouth as she can, over and over.

The soft animal sounds he’s making titillate her, as do his attempts to push her over the edge once more. At first his lips and tongue dance gently across her inner thighs, then across the crease between leg and sex, and finally his tongue is sweeping along the edges of her folds again, gradually moving inward.

By the time his tongue is starting to flick against her clit, she can’t keep up her efforts any more. Her hand pumps him slowly as her head rests on his thigh, sensation rippling  and racing through her, her breathing harsh in her throat as she surrenders.

Her limbs want to melt, but before they can she forces herself to crawl forward, smirking as Loki protests behind her. 

“I warned you, my Lord. Ravenous,” Star reminds him, even as she wheels and straddles him a final time, lowering herself until she is impaled on his shaft. She groans as he fills her, giving her exactly what her body craves so strongly, and his groan answers hers, his pupils so huge his eyes appear black as he looks up at her, his face still glistening from her slickness.

She doesn’t move right away, her limbs are still too lethargic to let her, so she squeezes her inner muscles rhythmically around him, and smirks. His pants are still on. “Looks like I’ll be ‘flavouring’ another leather item of yours,” she observes with a chuckle. No way she’s trying to get _those_ off. She’d need a shoehorn!

She hasn’t lied; it’s clear his pet certainly has a strong drive at the moment, and Loki focuses his concentration, driving his lust down so he can accommodate her overwhelming needs. He can pace himself certainly; they have the entire night to enjoy themselves.

“Perhaps not,” Loki murmurs and casts the same spell he’d done to remove her clothes. “While I have no qualms about wearing your essence, the scent of it might be noticeable to others here. No need to incite jealousy.”

The rest of his attire re-appears across the room, neatly draped, and freed of it, Loki focuses his concentration on his pet. He settles into a slow series of thrusts, rocking gently into her, all the better to savor the sensations against his skin. Now that she has been pleasured twice she’s not so sharp-edged, and when she tosses her hair back, he smiles up at her.

“Service me,” he purrs, and slides his arms up behind his head, watching her.

“Tired out already, Loki?” she teases, but she’s not inclined to disobey, not after two orgasms. 

She runs her hands down his torso, pausing to flick at the flat discs of his nipples, then bends to flick at them again with her tongue, before taking each one between her teeth. He’s attempting to act aloof, but the twitches of him inside her -- she answers each one with a _squeeze_ \-- says otherwise.

Star shifts, rubbing her nub against his pubic bone as her hips rock, slowly picking up the pace, and then moving herself leisurely up and down on his shaft. She braces one hand against him and brings the other to her mouth, wetting her fingertips before applying them to one of her own nipples, his eyes keenly following her motions.

His breathing speeds up to match hers as she moves faster and faster, the muscles of his belly systematically tightening under her palm. He’s getting close now, she can feel it in the way his hips are mirroring her movements.

Just before she thinks he’s going to explode she freezes, smirking at his cheated, affronted expression. How many times has he teased her this way? It’s time for some payback. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want something, my ice prince?” She chuckles as she waits to see what he will do. Hopefully he’ll _take_ her, hard, as he did the last time they were together. The memory of it has been making her wet all week.

Loki closes his eyes and takes a calming breath; his mind knows his pet means to be playful, but his body does not, and even now it’s difficult not to snarl up in her face and show her exactly _how_ dangerous this little game of hers is. Instead, he speaks through gritted teeth.

“I wanted the same generous release you yourself have received, little toy; time enough for games when I am not in distended pain,” Loki tells her, and reaches to up, his hand cupping her throat just above her collar. “However, if you _want_ me to savage you, I’m perfectly ready to do so.” He throbs within her, aching and just on the edge of coming, caught between heat and misery now.

Star should feel fear, or apprehension, but she doesn’t. He’s not going to hurt her. Oh, she’ll be walking bow-legged tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it. Such are the joys of hormones, apparently.

So she narrows her eyes right back at him. “Do your _worst_ , Loki of Asgard.”

He tightens his grip around her slender throat, cutting off her breath, and feels himself smile. “My worst?” The shift  in her expression  from tease to terror sends a fresh rush of lust through him, and he drives himself upwards into her cunt with renewed strength. “Very well.”

Loki lets go of her neck and moves to grip her by the nipples, pinching them painfully between his knuckles as he continues to thrust, bouncing his pet  hard, each stroke slamming their hip bones in bruising rhythm. “I am not your toy; you are _mine_ , and here for _my_ pleasure.”

When she starts to cry out, Loki reaches up to cover her mouth roughly, and ignores her teeth sinking into his palm. “Shhhhh . . .” he taunts, and concentrates on the fierce heat rising again through his cock, surging forth in wet fountaining waves deep inside her. The release is almost volcanic and nearly overwhelms him, but he keeps her astride until the last throb dies away, and then pulls his bleeding hand from her, licking his wound and smiling up at her furious face.

She shoves herself back and away from him. _What the hell just happened?_ Star crawls to the edge of the bed, wincing as she steps off it. The floor is cold under her feet, and she weaves a little as she walks towards the nearest chair, not looking back at him.

The metallic taste of his blood is in her mouth, and she wipes a shaky hand over her lips, trying to scrub it away.

“Not what you expected?” Loki calls to her, aware of her body language and feeling remorse draining any pleasure he had from his orgasm. “I suppose not. There lies within me a madman and a beast, Star. You _know_ I am capable of killing. I did try to warn you before you goaded me.”

Loki sits up and watches her, ignoring the blood leaking from his hand, the slick of semen and sex coating his thighs. Part of him wants to go and put his arms around her, and another part is terrified to do it, terrified of her loathing and rejection.

“Yeah,” she answers slowly, not looking around. “Didn’t get that memo, I guess. Or maybe I figured since you say you _love_ me-” No, she doesn’t want to go there. She cuts the sentence off, shaking her head. She rubs at her forehead, which is starting to ache. “Never mind.” 

She reaches up, finding the clasp of the necklace and opening it, laying it carefully on the seat of the chair. “I guess it’s partially my fault, since we never really discussed limits or anything. So, for the record-” and now she does turn and look at him, her mouth hard, “If you _ever_ choke me again, we’re through.” He looks as confused and lost as she feels, but she doesn’t feel ready to deal with that now. 

“And I’m sorry I bit you,” she adds, turning away again. “Is there anything similar to a bathroom around here? I need to . . . clean up.” She could use a bath, as hot as she can tolerate, or at least some water to get the taste of Loki’s blood out of her mouth.

“There’s a door inlaid just there,” Loki motions and it opens, revealing a lush bathroom. “It will sense what you need.”

When the door closes behind her, Loki rises from the bed and sighs heavily. Quick magic takes away the traces of intimacy, and more magic returns his garments to his body. He paces the room for a while, trying to figure out what to say when Star emerges from the bathroom, but nothing credible comes to mind, and he cannot figure out what he feels at the moment. 

Loki is by turns angry and regretful, sardonic and melancholy. He curses himself for choosing a human, for taking on someone physically weak but emotionally powerful, someone who knows nothing of his years among the Asgardians. 

The small room is empty when she enters, except for a foggy white light, which makes her blink. Okay, not what she was expecting. Then a sink materializes from nowhere. She’s grateful to see a cup on the rim. She rinses her mouth until the metallic taste is gone - did she swallow some of his blood? She doesn’t want to think about that - and then takes a gulp. She pours it out, and the sink fades into mist again.

Next a huge rectangular block of stone appears in front of her. It’s dark grey, and it takes her a minute to realize it’s some kind of bathtub, rough on the outside and smooth on the inside, and as she watches it fills with steaming water. A small set of stairs appears, leading up to it, and she carefully climbs in, hissing at the heat as she settles into the water.

She tries her best not to think at first. It seems safest. A nice plan, but it doesn’t work, though. She’s shortly horrified to feel tears on her cheeks, and she puts her hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds that want to come out of her. That doesn’t work well, either - it reminds her of someone _else’s_ hand, pressed over her mouth - so instead she shuts her eyes tight, splashes water over her face several times and breathes as slow and deep as she can manage. _Breathe. You’re OK. You’re still breathing. You’re banged-up a bit, but you’re still functional. How many people can say they’ve taken on Loki of Asgard and managed to walk away, if a bit unsteadily? I’ll bet it’s a short list, and that there aren’t many humans on it, or at least not too many of those who aren’t also Avengers_.  The thought gives her a sort of dark, dull amusement.

She lets herself slide into the water fully, totally submerged, her tears rinsing away. She stays under until she can’t hold her breath any longer, then breaks the surface. Star washes her body and hair quickly, not really looking forward to facing him, but it has to be done, so she figures she might as well get it over with.

She climbs out of the tub, dripping, and a mirror sidles out of nowhere. Star doesn’t want to look, but she has to know. 

There are reddened finger marks on her neck. If he intends to send her home, he’s going to have to do something about them. Or she’s going to have to make up some kind of story about a mugging gone wrong. _Great. Maybe he has some Notyr, or he can use an illusion. Assuming he cares that much._

She shakes her head, frowning at how her eyes are reddened, too - it’s not a good look for her at all - and holds out her hand. A fluffy grey towel, nearly as tall as she is, appears in it. She dries off her hair and body, then wraps the towel around herself tightly and takes a deep breath, slowly pushing the door open. 

Star doesn’t see him at first, and then spots him at the far side of the room, looking out one of the huge windows. She takes another deep breath and crosses to the chair with her clothes, dressing as quickly as she can while still trying to keep the towel around herself as much as possible.

“How’s your hand?” she asks him, eyes bent on her task. Her voice sounds firm, conversational. It doesn’t shake, and that’s good. It’s something.

He doesn’t look at her as he holds it out; the bite-marks are there, barely scabbing over against his pale skin. Loki could have healed it in the time she was bathing, but . . . _No. Better to have the reminder_ , he thinks. He speaks, his voice dull now. “I once accused my brother of being a fool for a mortal woman, and now I see it’s an easy thing to do. I will understand if you wish to leave me and never see me again. I don’t have  . . . whatever is required to make this work, precious one. I burn for you, but I cannot understand what I _am_ when I am with you. I do not want to risk hurting you, or worse, even as I love you still.”

He presses his mouth into a thin line, trying hard not to let the flare of pain in his chest deepen, and drops his head, his long hair falling to cover his face.

She frowns and pulls on her shoes, then crosses the room to him, taking his scabbed hand in both of hers. His remorse is a better reaction than she dared hope for -- better than wanting to kill her, or dump her back home without a word, at least -- but it begs the question: Does she actually _want_ to fix this?

He’s dangerous.

She shakes her head. Does one moment of crossing the line negate everything else?

“You’re quick to give up,” she comments, eyes still on his hand and voice carefully neutral. “I would’ve expected a being as old as you to have figured out at some point that running away doesn’t solve all that many problems.” She can feel his gaze on her now, but she won’t look up as she barrels on: “Am I happy with you right now? No. Does that mean I want to end things? Also _no_. But frankly, if you want to play these kinds of bed-games with me, you’re going to need to learn better control. If you can’t control yourself, you’re never going to be able to control _me_. Not safely, anyway. A little sexual frustration shouldn’t drive you into such a rage that I end up fearing for my life.”

The tears want to crest again, but she blinks them away. Fuck _that_. Not in front of _him_ , product of a macho warrior culture that he is.

Loki looks up, his gaze somber, but direct. “If you want to play these kinds of bed-games with me, _you_ are also going to need to learn to be careful what you say, particularly when I have warned you in advance and offered you the choice to submit, sweet one. I bitterly regret what I have done, but the fault for it is shared. Rage? You thought that was rage? No,” he shakes his head sadly, “ _rage_ was what I did to that city on your planet. This folly was merely my frustration and bad temper rising through me.” 

He flexes his hands, and the movement makes the blood begin to flow again; Loki ignores it, looking around the room. “I understand now why you do not love me, and I must accept that.”

She lets go of his hand, irritation sharpening her words. “First, if a little sexual frustration drives you to scare and _hurt_ me, then yes, that’s RAGE. Second, _I_ will be the sole judge of what I am feeling, and why I feel that way, thank you very much. Third, I am NOT going to own responsibility for what happened here, beyond what I’ve already agreed to. You knew from the beginning that I have a defiant streak. I made that clear from the start, even when we were just messaging each other, before we ever met in person. You’ve even said you _enjoy_ that aspect of my personality. If you thought that meant I wasn’t going to _test_ you at times, then you didn’t learn nearly as much from Angr-whatshername as you like to claim. And you said last time we were together that with you I could be as ‘cruel’ as I liked . . . and yet _this_ time, I make you suffer the blue balls for all of five seconds, and _all of a sudden_ you turn into a homicidal-”

She breaks off, staring unseeing past Loki as all the little clues fall neatly into place.  


Star looks up at him, eyes slowly widening. “Holy shit,” she breathes. It all makes sense now. _Goddamn it. I should have seen this coming._

He watches her, his expression both confused and wary.

She repeats it out loud: “It all makes sense now. You love me, or think you do. You’ve been summoning me more frequently lately, you’ve been voluntarily sharing details of your schemes with me - which you’ve only done before if I insisted - and now you pull me across the galaxy to be by your side while you’re in the midst of one of your cons. You love me, and you _need_ me.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “And that _scares_ the hell out of you. So now you’re sabotaging our relationship because of it. Because you’re _afraid_.”

She definitely should have seen this coming. Oh, she’d gone into this knowing he had issues - daddy issues, obviously, and also _brother_ issues - but she’d assumed his desire to have a sexual relationship with her was something he actually _wasn’t_ conflicted about. When he’d fallen in love with her, she’d been surprised to say the least, and she hadn’t really known what to think about it, but she’d never thought that would lead them _here_. If he was so terrified of loving someone, why start this with her at all? Or why allow it to continue once he’d realized he was falling for her?

It makes no sense, and perfect sense, both at the same time. 

Star shakes her head. “Pit-traps. I told you I sensed they were there the very first time we were together, didn’t I? How long have you had this one prepared for me to step into, Loki? Does it go all the way back to that first night?” She wouldn’t be surprised. He’d certainly made that first meeting challenging for her, disciplining her rather harshly right out of the gate, before she’d even begun to truly accept the idea that he was _real_. Maybe his aim had been to scare her off right then and there _Lucky me, too stubborn for that plan to work_ , she thinks with the same dull, dark amusement from earlier on.

Loki stares at her, flummoxed. “What?” he asks, cautiously. “Pit-traps? I fear only things that _should_ be feared. You are not one of them, my pet. You called out to me and I answered, intrigued by your words and your need for _me_. True, we have had our . . . difficulties, but I assumed it was because we come from different worlds on the most _literal_ sense. I am used to giving orders and having them followed; I’m used to the life of a prince whereas you--” he sighs and looks upward. “You are yourself, free and independent, yes?”

It’s not comfortable to hear her tone of mild chide; too reminiscent of the Allfather’s casual dismissals. Loki wonders if he will ever understand this puzzling, infuriatingly bewitching woman at all.

“I realize for someone like you that it’s not cool to admit to fear of anything. I’d expect no less of someone who grew up in a warrior culture like Asgard. That doesn’t make it any less true, however. Nor will that attitude fix anything. You’ll succeed in sabotaging what we have, and then you’ll go on to do it to the next poor woman or man you manage to enthrall. Or spend all of eternity alone. In your shoes, I’d pick a better option.” She has to smile, a little, but it’s not directed at him. “I recognize what you’re doing all too well; I saw it plenty of times in my patients when I was on internship. Heck, I’ve sabotaged myself on far too many occasions, too. I’d like to think my training has helped me recognize it when I’m doing it to myself, so I can stop it.”

Star fixes her gaze back on Loki again. “I’d say you have some serious self-reflection to do, Loki. No, scratch that, LOTS of serious self-reflection. You’re so used to tricking other people, but I really wonder when was the last time you took a look in the mirror, and considered what tricks you’ve been busy pulling on _yourself_.”

Loki considers her words and draws himself up stiffly. “Do you wish me to return you to Earth?” he asks quietly. _That might be for the best_ , he thinks. _I cannot hurt her if I cannot touch her._

In some ways it would be easier if she said yes. He’s a powder-keg that might blow up on her at any time, and even without that stressor, she knows she’s already on enemy territory here in Niflheim. But he also needs her, and something tells her if she turns her back on him now, that’ll be the end for ‘them’. 

So she moves up closer to him. She’s got a Kleenex in one of her jeans pockets; it’s crumpled but clean, so she takes his hand in hers again and dabs at the blood streaming from it. She winces; she hadn’t realized she’d bitten him quite that hard, but she’s not really surprised either. She grew up with a little brother who used to roughhouse with her all the time, and even now, so many years later, when physically attacked her reflex is to respond in kind.

“I guess that depends what you need,” she says quietly in answer to his question. “If you want me here, then I’ll stay as long as you wish. If you’d prefer me to go, though . . .” Star leaves the sentence unfinished. “I want to help, if you’ll let me.”

The bleeding is slowing, and when Loki doesn’t answer, Star steels herself and steps into him, putting her arms around him. It’s not an easy thing to do, making herself hug the person who just scared the living daylights out of her, but she feels like she has to try to bridge this gap between them somehow.

He flinches when she touches him aware again of her skin and warmth, of how matters between them have shifted so dramatically now. Loki tries not to savor his pet’s hug, and forces himself to keep his hands from mirroring her move, but her gesture does soothe him, and he gives in for a moment, relaxing before straightening up again and pulling back.

“You would be a great help if you choose to stay,” he tells her in a toneless voice. “The regent here is determined to burden me with some sort of consort who would doubtless be a spy, so having someone of my own to fill that role would neatly cut off that particular effort on his part. There will be a banquet tomorrow night that marks the start of autumn here, and before then I will have gained a few items that will aid my next move. Having you with me until then would be . . . lovely.”

He snaps his fingers and a large wardrobe appears; recognizable from his little pocket universe. “There are gowns and jewels here to bedeck you as my consort of course, and Privaldr’s maids would assist you with . . .” he trails off, dismissing the feminine aspects away. 

Loki looks down at his wounded hand, and adds in a soft voice. “I _enjoy_ it. The pain. That’s one reason I’ll never truly be like the rest of Asgard.”

She could follow up on that remark, and part of her certainly wants to -- _You enjoy it, or you just think you deserve it? Self-flagellation, much?_ but she tells herself he’s got enough to work through right now.

His distant, aloof manner bothers her, but she advises herself to be patient and give him some space. She likely could use some space herself, to try to process what’s happened between them.

There are also more practical matters to think about. “I don’t know anything about the culture here, so maybe you better fill me in on some basics so I don’t accidentally start an open war,” she says mildly, acting as if she hadn’t heard his last remark. “For starters, I presume the women here generally are not, as you put it before, ‘free and independent’? And you’d better give me some idea what to pick,” she adds, gesturing to the wardrobe. “If metal bikinis are _de rigueur_ at the Regent’s banquets, you should probably tell me now.” He won’t get the reference, of course, but in the absence of being able to amuse him, at least she’s still able to amuse herself.

Somewhat.

“The Regent and his court are nobles,” Loki begins, and recites what he knows about the three classes of the Jotunn here. He sees Star’s surprise when he informs her that noble women have equal status to men, and that consorts have their own privileged rank permitting them to choose partners as they see fit. 

“Consorts are advisors as well, so having one shows status and intelligence,” he adds. “As for attire, they dress to complement, using the same colors as their companion to announce allegiances. I am as you know, fond of green, but if you prefer other shades that _can_ be arranged.”

Talking about minor matters is soothing, and Loki finds it easier to do than to deal with the turmoil still deep within his stomach. He finishes a quick overview of the politics (The Regent is suspicious and would love to move against me but fears me; no one else will move without his approval”) and trails off, feeling tired now.

“Rest,” he suggests, and takes a step back. “I have an errand I must do before dawn, and I need to inform the steward of your presence as well.” 

“Sure, I-” Her stomach, predictably, chooses that moment to growl loudly, and Star rolls her eyes, though a glance at her watch confirms what she already suspects. Yeah, it’s lunchtime, according to her body clock. Whereas a glance out the window shows that it’s definitely night time here - it’s so dark she can barely make out the mountains now, and three moons or various sizes and shades of grey hang in the black sky. “Great, I get to contend with jet-lag, too,” she mutters to herself. Louder, she says to Loki, “I’ll rest, but I’ll need to eat something first.”

He nods and motions towards the bed and now Star spots the tray on the side-table there. “Thanks,” she starts, but when she turns back towards Loki, he’s vanished.

She manages to make it to the side of the bed before she goes to pieces. 

It’s looking at the bed that does it; the coverlet is rumpled, but it only serves to remind her of the _last_ act committed there.

But he’s gone and she doesn’t have to show a brave face anymore. She doesn’t want to sit on the bed, so she sinks to the floor next to it and allows herself to sob out all the fear and pain she managed to put aside up til this moment.

Still, it doesn’t go on for long; she’s never been much of a crier. After maybe five minutes, she gets control of herself again. It happened, it’s done, and they have to find a way to move forward from this. Or not, but she supposes that’s a decision they’ll make together. 

Star gets up and goes to the bathroom to clean her face. Then she helps herself to what’s left on the tray of food. There’s something that’s recognizable as bread, a few things that seem to be fruit though she’s never seen such oddly-coloured, spiky-looking fruit before. And something that looks like a meat jerky of some kind but isn’t as tough to chew as she expects.

Then there’s nothing to do but get into bed. She hesitates, not sure if she should sleep in her clothes, or take them off like she normally would. In the end, she decides it will be better to stick with the status quo, so after figuring out how to turn off all but one of the lights, she strips down and slides between the silky sheets. 

New problem: where to sleep? If she huddles on one side, no doubt Loki will read rejection into that - he seems primed to read it into everything - so she decides to sprawl smack in the middle of the bed. It’s so huge there’s room for him to be here on one side of the bed, and for there still to be a vast empty space between them. Part of her hopes he won’t leave that physical divide between them, that he’ll come and lie next to her, touch her, but she suspects he won’t. He may not even come to bed.

It takes a long while for her to fall asleep.

__________________________________________________________________

 

Loki makes his way out of the underground chamber and passes the two frozen sentries with hardly a glance. They will unfreeze in a few moments, unaware of anything having happened, and in the meantime the prizes they guard have been plundered. It’s enough to make him grin briefly, and Loki taps his chest to reassure himself that the little scroll is still there.

There were gems in the chamber; riches and treasure from all over the Nine Worlds, but under those were items that Loki suspects the Regent doesn’t realize have far more value--like this little map. He slips away, his elation fading as he remembers the issues still ahead.

His steps slow. Loki debates whether or not to return to the chamber, to his pet and the heavy matters still unresolved between them. Her comment about running away surfaces in his mind and he tries not to frown. 

Yes he regrets his behavior, but a rebellious little spark of frustration refuses to die within him, and unconsciously he squeezes his hand, feeling the pain again.

_ Sometimes one of us must lead _ , Loki thinks, _And sometimes we must be equals. It is too easy to let my temper rule in bed._

He lifts his chin and sighs tiredly, moving to one of the windows and climbing out on the ledge. It’s not easy and the wet cold of the night chills him, but Loki manages to climb until he reaches the window of his chamber; the window he and Star stood by earlier. He carefully pulls it open and climbs in, grateful for the lingering warmth from the fireplace.

He sees Star curled up in the middle of the bed, and blinks, caught between amusement and trepidation. Quietly Loki steps closer, and waves a hand. the covers slip down from her shoulder exposing her bare skin. 

Loki gives a shuddering sigh. Another finger wave and the covers shift even lower, revealing her lithe curves against the sheets, softer now in sleep. _Tempting. Very tempting, but . . ._

He shakes his head and tucks her back in. It’s the work of a moment transform the little scroll into a ring, slipping it onto the pinky of his wounded hand.

Loki dries his clothing and stretches out on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes and trying hard not to think of anything.

__________________________________________________________________

She’s sore. 

That’s the first thing she’s aware of. Star swallows a groan and shifts slowly to the edge of the bed, taking stock. 

The soreness between her thighs doesn’t bother her too much, that was going to happen either way, she figures. But her hipbones ache and her nipples feel tender, and thinking about either of those takes her back to something she’d rather not remember right now.  
The sheets still around her, she reaches for a small round mirror on a table beside the bed, to check her neck, which also feels tender.

The marks have darkened, leaving a clear impression of a hand. She closes her eyes and schools her expression, setting the mirror aside, then opens her eyes again and looks back over her shoulder. 

Yes, Loki is there, lying on top of the coverlet in his tunic and pants, eyes on her and his face unreadable.

_ Did he even sleep? _

“Hi there. Should we do something about this?” she asks calmly, motioning to her neck, her gaze bent low so she’s looking at the serpents on his tunic instead of _him_. “I imagine it’ll give the wrong impression if someone sees your ‘consort’ with a mark like this around her throat. Ruin the illusion of a united front, and all that.”

He hands her a little bottle of Notyr. “This will speed the healing, and help alleviate your pains . . . as you probably remember,” he finishes awkwardly. Loki scoots back on the bed when she takes it, and stays silent. For the first time in a long time he can think of nothing to say, and that disquiets him above and beyond the immediate situation. The distant sound of a horn, faint and musical cuts into the quiet, and Loki draws in a breath.  


“That is the call to breakfast, and we will be expected,” he murmurs. “That is, I must attend, and I hope you shall.”

He’s so skittish that Star feels her own anxiety reducing. At least what happened is _bothering_ him. That’s a good start, far as she’s concerned. Something to work with.   


She smiles at him, finding it easier to meet his gaze. “Of course I will. Would you pick me out something suitable to wear while I try to tame the rat’s nest on my head?”

He nods and she carries the Notyr into the bathroom. She washes her face and scrunches water into her hair to try to revive the flattened curls, then rubs a little of the Notyr on her throat. The marks actually lighten slightly in front of her amazed eyes, but they’re still visible. _I hope he’s got a scarf or something in that wardrobe of his._

After a moment’s thought she shrugs and also smears the Notyr on all her other aches, even the one between her legs. Star can’t see the harm.

A soft grey robe materializes in front of her and she takes it and slips it on. The room is a little chilly, and besides, Loki doesn’t seem all that comfortable with her nudity right now.

Star goes out to see what he has selected for her.

The gown is muted green velvet and gold with brocade panels, trimmed with black fur, and a small stole to wrap around her throat. Boots of black leather go with it, along with half-gloves of green velvet and gold brocade. Loki has shifted his own attire to the same shade of green and added a heavy black fur cloak across his shoulders, tossing his hair back absently. 

_ I should trim it _ , he thinks; without a beard he looks more feminine, but before Loki can do anything, he turns to see his pet slip out of the bathroom, and her delight in his selection sends a surge of pleasure through him. 

It feels good to have done something right, and Loki takes the moment for what it’s worth, glad of her approval.

“Nice,” she says admiringly, looking first at the dress, and after a pause, at him. “You look good, too,” she adds. 

There are no under-things laid out with the dress, though she thinks the ones she came here with will work, so she goes over to the chair to retrieve them. Star takes off the robe and puts on the bra, the panties, and her socks -- what she wouldn’t give for some deodorant! -- always aware of Loki’s gaze on her back.

Her eyes flick over to the chair where her collar is still lying. Where she left it last night, after . . . what happened. Slowly, she straightens up, looking at it and thinking fast. 

Finally she comes to a decision. She goes to get it, then turns, deliberately holding Loki’s gaze as she puts the string of green stones around her throat and slides her hands behind her neck to close the clasp. He looks away first, his expression still carefully blank, but Star hopes he got her point.

She walks over to where he laid out the clothes for her, dresses quickly, then fluffs her curls. No makeup, but Loki hasn’t mentioned anything like that, so maybe that’s not typical of the culture here? 

Star shrugs, then walks over to Loki. On impulse she reaches up to twine her fingers in his hair, drawing him down for a kiss. He doesn’t resist, but his mouth under hers is slow to respond, hesitant. Again, she just has to trust that her point has been made. 

She threads her hand between his arm and his side, wrapping her fingers around his elbow, and smiles up at him. “Ready when you are. By the way, what is the proper form of address for Privaldr? ‘Lord Regent’?” she inquires.

“Yes, although he will invite you to call him by his first name,” Loki assures her. “He has an interest in the consorts, and you will intrigue him. It is safe to tell him you are of Midgard; this side of the Nine Realms knows little of it.”

They move down the corridor outside the rooms and to a staircase the curves to the floor below, and Loki sees some of the others already moving in that direction. He sets his shoulders and gives Star a mild glance. “I shall be much more . . . everything, I am afraid. More snobbish, more charming, more . . . myself here. It is a matter of reputation and fear, but none of it is directed to you or . . . us. I tell you this so you understand. Do you?”

At his pet’s nod, Loki gives her a brief smile. 

They reach the dining hall and the Regent is there, looking over the long table and fussing over some trivial matter. His piggy eyes light up when he looks over at them and Loki grits his teeth at the clear interest in his host’s expression when he spots Star.

“Lord Loki, the steward told me you were expecting a guest, but I never suspected so lovely a consort,” Privaldr comments, and comes over quickly.

“My . . . consort, Lady Sigyn of Midgard,” Loki replies, putting on an icy expression to cover his distaste.

Privaldr is a round short Jotunn with slightly bulging eyes and a distracting habit of licking his fleshy lips. He’s well-dressed but there are stains on his clothes, and the rings on his hands are dirty. He gives a slight bow to Star, his gaze taking her in with barely-hidden carnal interest. “Lady, we welcome your beautiful self to Niflheim.”

Star thinks. She wonders at the hesitation in Loki’s voice before he named her as his consort, if it has anything to do with what happened yesterday. 

And the name he gave her. She knows who ‘Sigyn’ refers to, of course. She doesn’t consider herself an expert on Norse mythology, but she did go look up a few things about Loki online before attempting to write anything using his character. 

Star doesn’t know if his relationship with Sigyn already happened, or has yet to happen, or if the mythology is even halfway true. Is he trying to tell her something? If so, again she has to wonder how yesterday’s events may factor in. 

But she has no time to dwell on any of these things. She hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then gives the Regent a curtsey. If they don’t do that here, she can always explain it away as a sign of respect on Earth. “Thank you, Lord Regent. I thank you also for your generous hospitality. I do not think I have ever stayed in so well-appointed a room before,” she says, eyes demurely downcast.

She feels so very out of her element, even worse than her visit to  Tahiti with Loki, but she’ll do her best. Maybe she should take up LARPing when she gets home, if Loki plans to bring her to other realms in the future. That’s probably the closest experience to this that she’ll find back home. _ That’s assuming he and I _ have _some kind of future_ , she reminds herself somberly as she straightens up again, though she manages to keep a polite smile plastered to her lips.

“Your presence surely enhanced it, and please, call me Privaldr,” the Jotunn murmurs. “Where have you been keeping this beauty, Lord Loki?”

“Away from _you_ , Regent,” Loki responds with a chilly smile.

This doesn’t sit well but Loki doesn’t care as Privaldr’s expression shifts to something less lascivious and more uncomfortable. “My lord jests,” he replies to Star. “Come, let me show you to your seats.”

Loki allows the Jotunn to lead them to the table, aware of the other guests settling in. There are a few other Ice Giants here and warriors with their consorts, along with a dwarf or two. Privaldr is building alliances and not even subtly.

The meal is probably good, but Loki picks at his food, his gaze taking in the dynamics at the table, and his mind still puzzling over his relationship with Star. Others are gazing at the two of them, and a few of the other consorts are nodding in approval.

Star shifts uncomfortably in her chair. This whole thing has abruptly shifted into the realm of the surreal. She’s sitting at a table surrounded by what amounts to aliens, eating alien food, on an alien planet galaxies away from home. And she has _very_ little idea what to do or how to act. 

It’s not just the food, although of course that’s a problem -- is the skin of this thing in front of her edible? Poisonous, and thus to be peeled off? -- but she also realizes too late she ought to have asked Loki how much her behaviour should reflect his. Is she supposed to mirror his current attitude of chilly arrogance, or continue what she is doing, which is pretending not to notice?

Star does her best to copy what everyone around her is doing in terms of eating, watching Loki closely from the corner of her eye as he peels a particular item, which could either be a vegetable or a fruit, she can’t tell. He doesn’t eat much of it, though. 

She wonders if Loki’s manner has something to do with the Regent. Privaldr’s interest in her, even though Loki warned her about it, sets her teeth on edge. Whenever Loki’s attention seems taken up by something on the opposite end of the table, Star can feel the Regent’s red-eyed gaze on her body. The few times she glances over at him, it’s pretty clear he’s wondering what she looks like without all the finery on, and probably also about the logistics of bedding her. 

She nods and smiles politely, but as that only seems to encourage him, she tries to focus her attention on other things, while trying not to gawk at all the humanoid, yet still so _different_ beings around her. Not that they seem to be suffering from the same shyness as her; some of them are openly staring, others glancing at her only occasionally, or looking from Loki to her, and back. Some are openly curious, others calculating, some approving, but either way, it’s rather uncomfortable. She’s an introvert, more at home with solitary pursuits than social gatherings . . . and that’s usually with other _humans_.

But she’s here and she has to play the role, so she forces herself to strike up conversations with the beings nearest to them. After the initial introductions, she has to field a number of questions about Earth -- which is fine, it means she doesn’t have to sit here, scrabbling to figure out what to say to people -- and a few about herself that she tries to answer as vaguely as possible.

Through it all, Privaldr continues to stare.

Finally, Star can’t take it any longer. Loki is the only familiar thing here, and she finds herself reaching under the table before she even realizes what she is doing. Her fingers wrap around his larger un-wounded hand, but he does not react for a long moment. She remembers too late that he has several reasons not to return her gesture. Highest on that list would probably be his ‘reputation’, as well as what happened last night. 

But then his hand turns, fingers entwining firmly with hers, and Star relaxes marginally. Emboldened, she leans to Loki’s ear. “Thanks, I’m feeling a little . . . overwhelmed. And curious: why did you tell the Regent my name is Sigyn?”

He shoots her a sidelong glance, a small and sweet dimple appearing as he replies. “Sigyn is a variant of Star, little one. You are doing very well so far; the consorts all approve of you.”

It’s true, and Loki is pleased since his pet’s presence means he will be able to move among the bonded now with more ease. He picks at his food, which barely tempts his appetite, and gives Star’s fingers a reassuring squeeze before adding, “The regent is now considering how to win you away from me, which is both amusing and annoying. With his attention on you, it will take longer for him to be attentive to his castle here, but I despise the way he is fantasizing about you.”

Star smiles. “Well,” she can’t resist joking, “I do have an apparent kink for Jotunns.” 

This earns her a soft laugh. Across the table, the other guests are staring at Loki now.

“Careful,” Star teases softly. “We don’t want the others to know you’re actually capable of _smiling_ , do we?”

“I am sure they will still fear me nonetheless,” Loki tells her. “As they should.”

Star resists the urge to roll her eyes. “How did your errands go last night?” she asks, continuing to speak in a low voice. “I never got a chance to ask you.”

“Well,” he replies in an undertone. “Although I fear my welcome will wear out in about two days. Do you need more to drink?”

Star eyes her stein critically. “Depends. Is this stuff alcoholic?” Given what happened yesterday, plus the Regent’s obvious interest, it’s probably better to keep as many of her wits about her as she can.

“No, it’s simply juice,” Loki points out. “The Regent’s cellars are poor, and he will save what ale and wine he has for this evening. I know I am through with this repast. Shall we leave, or do you wish to stay and meet anyone else?”

“No, I think I’m good. I can only take an hour or two of a room full of people like this, before I start feeling like I need some air.”

Loki nods. They rise and make their way around the table; as they pass the Regent, Loki leans to whisper to him. “Very nice, Lord Privaldr. My lady and I were up late, however, so I think we shall retire this morning. Please see we are not disturbed.” 

It’s worth it to see the Regent grumble a little and then attempt to be polite. “Of course, Lord Loki, of course. Pleasant . . . dreams.”

Star waits until they are out in the hall to giggle and shake her head. “Gee, that was very . . . _subtle_ of you. NOT.”

“It was not intended to be subtle,” Loki fights an answering smirk. “Let him pleasure himself in thoughts of us; it is probably the only workout he would ever indulge in.”

“That ball of lard, pleasuring himself? Gah! I did not need _that_ mental image, thanks muchly.” Star makes a disgusted face.

“Banish it if you wish,” he murmurs, amused. They mount the stairs and don’t speak again until they are on the landing. “I said it to irritate him, but it does not have to be true,” Loki manages with a renewed sense of gravity. “I know matters between us are still out of joint.”

Star nods slowly. “Yeah, agreed. Any suggestions?” She could take the lead, but she’d prefer it comes from him.

He snorts. “I could wipe our memories, but I fear you would not approve of that action. I could wipe them from myself--and still might--but knowing you little pet, you will want me to remember them and learn from them.”

She smiles. “You ‘fear’ correctly, Loki of Asgard.” Star smirks. “And yes, I would prefer _we_ actually learn something from this.”

They reach the doorway of the room and Loki waves at it, opening it easily. The bed has been made and fresh flowers are set up around the room. He slumps in behind her and sighs. “I have spent the better part of the night thinking over what has happened, and it vexes me, Pet. I am not  . . . good. I find it difficult to balance what I am with what I feel.”

Star waits until the door closes behind them, trying to figure out what to reply to that. She goes to the nearest chair and starts to unlace a boot. She loves wearing fancy clothes . . . for a short while. “Nobody is all good or all bad. Not you, and not me. And I’m not asking you to be good. But I need to know that if I get you angry, that I’m not going to come out of injured. Or dead,” she explains as neutrally as she can manage.

Loki holds up his injured hand and waits until she sees the perfect double arcs of bite marks along the palm. “Do you know how I got this? I, who am an invulnerable god, my pet? I got it because when I bed you, I choose to be . . . a bit more vulnerable. When I am, I _feel_ more. Since our first time I have allowed myself to be so. And this is the reminder to me that feeling can go both ways for both of us. I was shocked by the pain, and shocked by the thought that I hurt you as I did.”

Star blinks. “I . . . didn’t know you were doing that. And I appreciate that you are making an effort to ‘come down to my level’. But you’re still a _lot_ stronger than me. So until we find another way to diffuse that anger, I’ll always be at risk. From _you_. I don’t think either of us wants that.” She kicks off the other boot and walks up to him, reaching up to lace her fingers into his hair, drawing him down until their foreheads are touching. 

“I don’t understand what you’re afraid of,” she continues in a softer tone. “I can’t hurt you. Not physically . . .well, _Much_. Emotionally? Possibly, though no differently than you can hurt me emotionally. I guess I just don’t understand why you started this with me, or why you let it continue once you started developing an affection for me, if this drives you to ‘defend’ yourself like that. I can’t imagine I’m the _only_ person lately writing about you. Why pick _me_ , if my nature is going to be some kind of trigger for you? Help me understand, Loki.”

He laughs without humor. “You are not in awe of me, or even very afraid of me. When I first heard you I assumed you were like the others, but I found you are not. You have the rare ability to challenge me, and believe me that _is_ rare. At first I was amused, and indulged myself with you because it was so refreshingly different to find someone who could accuse me, and contradict me and defy me. Later though . . .” he trails off, “Later I realized that you had what I needed to feel truly . . . loved. Taking me on even through my reputation and my tantrums has opened my eyes to this.”

“That doesn’t explain what happened last night. Maybe you _want_ me to be afraid of you.” She doesn’t actually believe that, but the therapist part of her wants to float that idea, to see what reaction she gets. Old habits die hard, apparently.

“Perhaps I did,” Loki sighs. “Vulnerability is not easy for me. I have hardened my heart for many years, pretty pet. And behind those walls, I am not very tame at times.”

Star sighs, stroking his scalp in small circles. “Then I guess the first step is for you to decide what you really want. From me, and from yourself.” It’s not easy for her to do that, to wait for him to make the decision as to where this is going (if anywhere); she’s never been a fan of uncertainty, unpredictability, but . . . _ kinda picked the wrong god to get involved with then, didn’t I?_

Loki makes a little noise deep in his throat. “That is a difficult issue, and not one I can decide by myself. You . . .” he squeezes his eyes closed, “You are already committed to another, and responsible for a child. I honor those bonds because I do not want to make you forsake them. The man does not concern me overmuch, but I would not pull you from your child. You too, must decide what you want and why you have chosen _me_.”

Star sighs and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Loki’s mouth, then releases him and walks towards the bed. “You see my family as your rivals, but I’m not sure why. If anything, you should be _thanking_ my husband. He’s been with me for over a decade, and I am partly the person that you love because of *him*.” She changes her mind, going to the chair with her street clothes, then returning to the bed as she thinks on her reply.

“But I don’t buy that my family is the reason for what happened yesterday. Their existence does not take any time away from _us_. I’ve never refused to answer one of your summons -- well, not after the first time, when you told me about your time-bending trick -- and in any case, you’re giving me something my husband can’t, so it’s not like you’re in any real competition.” She starts to undo the lacings of her dress. “And I highly doubt thoughts of my husband were anywhere close to your mind when you hurt me, yesterday.” She pulls the dress off, and then reaches to unwind the stole off her neck, Loki stiffening perceptibly even from across the room. She sets it aside and carefully undoes her collar, laying it next to the stole.

“I do not see your family as rivals; I see them as contributions to your conflicted nature at times,” Loki points out carefully. “And yes, they had nothing to do with what happened yesterday. That was about my frustrations and my own poorly controlled temper. We are both creatures of strong passion, my pet and that is something I must come to accept.”

Star shakes her head as she gets to her feet. “I don’t think ‘acceptance’ is going to help here. I’d prefer to _understand_. That’s what I do.” She moves past him to the bathroom. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Once inside, she reaches for the jar of Notyr. Miraculously, all her earlier aches and pains are gone, but when she looks in the mirror, the marks on her neck are still visible. No wonder Loki flinched. She smears a little more Notyr on the marks. Even as she does so, an echo of Loki’s voice sounds in her head: _I am not your toy; you are_ mine _, and here for_ my _pleasure._

Her eyes narrow. Maybe _that’s_ it-

She walks back out to the room and then to the chair, pulling on her shirt and jeans as she talks. “I don’t think it has anything to do with*passion*. Or even your temper. It’s _fear_ , Loki. You told me during the attack that I was nothing; that I was here for your pleasure. That you had power over me. That’s it, isn’t it? When you make yourself vulnerable, when people have power over you, you get hurt. So you’ve decided if anyone makes you suffer, no matter how briefly, you’re going to hurt them back.”

Loki pauses and shoots her an incredulous look. “How many times have we been together? How many times have I hurt you? When we first began did you not tell me I was your master and you would be my plaything?”

“Yes, but this was different. You weren’t choking me and silencing me those other times,” she points out. “You can’t stand there and tell me the stakes didn’t ratchet up in that moment. Something was different; you were angry, _really_ angry. It wasn’t in ‘play’.”

“Yes, I was angry,” He nods. “I felt I had been ill-used, and thoughtlessly I took you at your challenge when I should have held back and considered the situation. I was a fool, and I know it could have been much worse for you. I regret it, and I know I will not be able to apologize it away, my Star.”

“I’m not interested in an apology. I’m interested in stopping it from happening again. That’s why I need to understand,” she says, rubbing at her forehead, and sighing. She’s onto something here; she’s utterly convinced of it. 

So she keeps trying to work it out. “Ill-used . . . Odin used you, then abandoned you. Maybe Frigga too, though I don’t know enough about her to be sure. But She Who Brings Grief made you vulnerable, used you. And then she wouldn’t even let you meet or raise the children she created with you. And you loved her, didn’t you? You loved all of them - Odin, Frigga, Angrboða - and they hurt and used you. That’s why you want to rule the Nine Realms. If you’re the one on top, the one with all the power, nobody can ever hurt you again.”

Loki feels himself grow cold, and the temptation to let the frost tinge his words rises but he fights it down. “My past shall stay where it lies, and my children are forbidden to be spoken of, pet. I do not ask about your child, so give me that courtesy at least. Yes, perhaps you are right about the emotions that have been blunted or twisted. And yes, I have been hurt in my time. Yet this IS part of what I am, woman. I cannot change what has been done, nor forgive those ancient hurts.”

Star raises her brow at the edge in his voice. “The one who trained me to do therapy,” she remarks mildly. “Used to say that when a patient got angry or defensive, that meant the therapist was onto something.” She pauses to let that sink in, then goes on. “That’s the problem, Loki. You think that’s all in the past, but it’s not. It was here with both of us in this room yesterday. It’s why you hurt me. You’ve made yourself vulnerable to me, physically and emotionally. You rescued me from the Were. You’ve even brought me in to help you with your latest con! But from your perspective, in that moment yesterday, I made you suffer, the way _they_ made you suffer, and you struck at me for it. The past is going to drive you, Loki, until you choose to put it down. You don’t have to keep carrying it.” 

He cocks his head, considering her words even as he studies her expression, and with a sigh Loki looks upward. “What you say may be true, but it offers me nothing. I cannot make peace with the Allfather, who will not see me, nor talk with my brother, who is dedicated to hunting me down in the name of his Midgardian loyalty. Certainly Angrboda lies within the frost and will not rise again until Ragnarök. There is no reconciling the past when nothing is left there.”

“I’m not asking you to make peace with them. I’m asking you to stop tarring me with the same brush. I’m asking you to accept that I don’t have an agenda as they did, that I’m not trying to use you. Yes, I probably should have recognized yesterday that what I did was like showing red to a bull -- and I think at some level I _did_ recognize it,” she grimaces, then goes on, “and I would hope that I can make a better choice next time. But I can’t be the only one keeping an eye out for your triggers. It would be much safer for me if there weren’t any. I haven’t done anything to earn your mistrust or rage, have I?”

Loki manages a wry smile. “The only thing I cannot master little pet, is what you want or need from me any given time we are together. My letters to you are cruel and you seem to thrive on them, but if I say to your face what I have written you snap and bite back. I do not know if you WANT me to master you or serve you, or simply love you as a mate does. There is no . . .” he sighs, “guide to your wishes. And at times I wonder if you know yourself.”

Star sighs too. “I guess I don’t. Maybe it would be simpler if I was single. But maybe it wouldn’t. We lead very different lives, Loki.”

“That we do, and despite it all, my precious pet, I would rather be with you than in all the halls of Asgard. You bring life into my cold heart. I enjoy being your master AND servicing under you. Time spent with you is always worth whatever cost it takes. I do not begrudge you a life away from me, but I do want our time to be as special in your heart as it is in mine.”

Star can’t help smirking. “The Silvertongue awakens!” she teases affectionately, but then she thinks over his words carefully. “Well, then why can’t we go with _that?_ Instead of worrying about Masters and slaves and who is up and who is down, why can’t we just . . . be together, enjoy each other, and try to see what we need from each other at *that* moment, and then try to meet that need?”

He moves closer, and drops to one knee--which nearly brings him face to face with his pet. “I would be a glad partner to that. And truly my gem, I am sorry for what pain I have caused.” Loki holds out his bitten hand to her, his smile slightly twisted.

She hesitates for a second. “Just promise me one thing -- that you’ll think about what I said. About putting that burden - the past - down. I’m not expecting you to change overnight, of course. But I think you’ll feel better, and _we_ will work better, if you do.” She reaches to take his hand, sliding her fingertips lightly over the scabbed skin.

“You have said some hard things,” he murmurs, “but they are wise, and I will consider them seriously because I know you say them out of love for me.”

“Thank you,” she says. On impulse, she tugs on his hand, drawing him forward until his arms are around her and his cheek is pressing against her belly. She reaches to stroke the dark locks of his hair, and he relaxes against her.

She bites her lip, considering. She could probably leave things here; he has a lot to think about already. 

Loki leans forward and rubs his face against her hand in a gesture like when he was a panther. “I may not be forgiven, but I am willing to do what it takes to get back into your good graces.”

Star shakes her head again. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t forgive you. And . . .” she stops again. She’s not sure how much she should reveal to him, but he did make a good point earlier about how she is not exactly the most compliant sub. If this was a therapy relationship, then she’s supposed to be aloof, objective, an unknown . . . but they don’t. Creating a new power differential between them isn’t going to help matters. 

“You were right when you said that I am conflicted about my role. It’s not you. It’s . . . there are many things about this kind of bedroom play that I enjoy. Spanking, sensation play, being tied down, being overpowered. But there’s also many things that I _don’t_ enjoy, because of . . . things that have happened to me in my life. I guess in many ways, I’m more comfortable being a ‘bottom’ than a ‘sub’.” She stops, trying to gather her thoughts.

“An equal,” Loki nods. “Playing a part without living it. This I do understand, since I too have had some times where it is a matter of sensation rather than the way I live.”

Encouraged, Star continues: “And I guess the reason why you got mixed signals - the reason why I seem one way in response to your letters, and another way in person is . . .it’s a different context? If I read something in a letter I don’t like, I can skip over it. I’m not actually under your power, not when it’s just words on a page. I can step away if and when I want to, instantly. Here, with you . . .it’s different. It’s . . . _intense_ , overwhelming sometimes. I end up feeling like I can’t say no, not to your face, or that there’s no escape. So I grit my teeth and take it, even if I don’t want to. Or,” she adds, “I snipe at you for it.”

“You must have a way out,” Loki murmurs, understanding dawning within him. “Yes, I do see that, and know that. When I used to play in my youth--acting out battles with my brother--if something did not fit, if one of us got hurt, we would call to ‘hold up’ and stop what we were doing to repair the moment.”

But Star is shaking her head. “No, I know what you’re getting at -- a safe-word, we call it -- but that’s not a guarantee with me. See, I . . . used to be involved with someone. He didn’t force me physically, but he used to insist that I perform certain acts on him. And I’d been bullied as a child, had grown up thinking I was ugly and I’d never attract anyone. I bought into it, believed it, for a long time. So when he insisted, I . . . went along with it. I thought I’d never find anyone else, that I was lucky just to have him, to have _anyone_ , and that I needed to do whatever it took to keep him happy. So I would give him what he wanted, but it didn’t do anything for me. I would shut down. I’d just . . . go somewhere else in my head. It was a totally mechanical act for me.”

He reaches a hand out to touch her cheek. “Now which of us is carrying a difficult past? Which of us may have old hurts and angers my pet?”

She laughs dryly. “Did I ever claim I was a paragon of mental health? But,” she continues before she loses her nerve. “Years later, long after I broke up with that man, I met another man, who became my first Dom. I had all these desires, things that all the other men I’d been with had been too vanilla to give me, and I thought he could. We had a safeword, and we played a few times and everything seemed fine. I thought it was _safe_.”

“But then we tried a pretty heavy scene. Something that I thought I would enjoy, because I’d been fantasizing about it for longer than I can remember. But it didn’t work, it was going really _wrong_ for me, and I just . . . couldn’t safeword. I froze up again, just like all those years before, and let him do what he wanted, even though I didn’t want it at all, not like _that_. So . . . the point is, we can have a safeword, but I don’t know that you can count on me to use it.” There, she’s said it.

Loki takes a deep breath, aware of the enormous amount of trust his pet has given him in revealing this. He’s touched, deeply, and feels a surge of anger on her behalf against those who misused her. Carefully he nods, a new thought occurring to him. “Thank you for telling me. This explains much, this gives me an honor to be so entrusted, my Star. And in hindsight, I feel such a fool for how I have treated you in certain moments. Silver-tongued I may be, but it is no compensation here. My poor sweet one--”

“You’re not a mind-reader. That I know of, anyway!” she says with another short laugh. “How could you have known? But I guess what I’m trying to say is, there are certain things that trigger me, that make me angry instead of feeling, well, horny. Things that involve humiliation, which forms a lot of that whole Master-slave thing. Anything where I feel like someone is trying to reduce me to nothing. Like those bullies when I was a child, and that boyfriend I told you about. When it happens, I just want to fight back. To defy the Dom, to be a brat. Even when I’m the one in control, I avoid that sort of thing. Maybe you noticed when I was your Domme, that I didn’t do much of the humiliation thing. Or rather, I tried not to. It doesn’t turn my crank, either to give or to receive.” She stops. She didn’t think she was humiliating him when she was the Domme, but of course that doesn’t mean _he_ perceived it the same way.

“Humiliation--” Loki shrugs. “I suppose I am immune to it at this point, at least nominally. We of Asgard are quick to insult, and the ears do become callused after a while. And I do not *wish* to humiliate you, but I confess having you service me in any way--from feeding me to other acts--these do arouse me. I would lie if I said otherwise, but _forcing_ you to do so--no. There is no shared pleasure in such a moment. I would prefer to be seduced than serviced without consent. On the other hand . . .” he drops his gaze, his voice softer now, far less certain. “I did not lie either when I spoke of pain. In small doses, in moderation, it ignites a blaze within me. I wish it were not so, but it is. I bow to the woman who wields the little moments of discomfort for me.”

The corner of Star’s mouth quirks. “I like a little pain too, remember? Spanking, and there was that time when you used the strap on me. I enjoyed that, remember? As long as I’m not left _damaged_.” Unconsciously her hand steals up to her neck to rub the fading marks there, but she stops once she realizes what she’s doing. 

“But moderate pain, especially if it is mixed with pleasure . . . yesterday, for example,” she adds carefully, “when I teased you, if your response had been to throw me down on the bed, spank me, and then _take_ me, well . . .” Her cheeks heat, as does another area of her body, one rather lower down and right under Loki’s chin. She shifts beneath him, her thighs pressing tightly together. “In fact,” she admits, “that was what I was *hoping*you would do.”

There’s no denying it -- just talking about this is arousing her. She’s not all that surprised, she _is_ still ovulating after all. But she wonders if Loki will sense her body’s reaction, and if he does, will he do anything about it?

More importantly, does she _want_ him to do anything about it? She thinks she does, but what if he doesn’t want to?

Loki feels a sense of relief, surprise and a tiny bit of panic cross his face at her words. “At the time, I did not have the . . . _patience_ to do that,” he tells her. “My arousal was too painful and childishly, I felt that having pleasured you twice, I was due some relief in return. Sometimes it is difficult to tell you what I need when we are both in the throes of passion, pretty pet. That time ended badly for both of us, and now . . . I fear misreading you or making a false step lest it happen again and drive you forever from me.”

It hurts to say it, but Loki respects his pet too much to keep the truth from her. He looks up into her face, searching her eyes for some way to read her thoughts and know what she’s thinking.

“I promise to try to be more open with you. I need to get over that, my shyness about these kinds of things.” Star says slowly, closing her eyes and thinking, searching for the right way to express herself, to convey what she needs right now.

Finally she opens them. Loki is looking up at her expectantly, warily. _Just do it for god’s sake,_ she coaches herself.

She smiles down at him. “Maybe we could start by you helping me take my clothes off? And no, not with magic. I like being undressed . . . slowly.” Her face flushes again. Something tells her that will be a theme today. “If you want to,” she adds. “Given everything, I’d understand if you aren’t ready to go back there yet.”

Loki feels a rush of thoughts fly through his mind, and foremost is the knowledge that his pet is offering a chance to repair their bond. He swallows hard as gratitude, lust and relief flood his senses. “I will _never_ lose the desire to remove your clothing from you,” he tells her, his voice gaining surety as he speaks, “but not with my hands this time.”

From the sudden flush across her face, he sees her realize what that will entail, and gratified, he bats his eyes at her. “Lips and teeth and tongue--will these suffice?”

He’s sure they will; even as Loki waits for her response, he nips at one of the buttons on her shirt.

Star giggles, she can’t help it. She’s read about someone undressing another person that way, but she’s never written that act, or had someone actually do it with her in real life. “If that is what you wish, my Lord,” she answers, mouth curving in a slow smile. “Far be it for me to deny you the chance to display your considerable . . . skill.” She grins, brushing her fingers lightly along his dimpled cheek.

And after that it’s lovely. Loki manages to undo her shirt buttons, letting his warm breath tickle her skin, and with a nip and toss of his head it slips from her arms and he lets it fall to the floor.  The jeans are trickier; he’s grateful they have only one button and a zipper, which he grips in his teeth and drags down while looking up at her the entire time.

Thankfully she steps out of them!

The scent of her tells him she’s definitely aroused, and encouraged, Loki herds her back towards the bed. Once there, Star falls backwards with another laugh that turns to a gasp when Loki nibbles at one hipbone, catching the edge of her panties in his teeth.  “Pretty, but not needed,” he manages, and begins to drag them down.

His pet is being wonderfully cooperative, and he takes a moment to slip his tongue into her navel before tugging on the other side of the panties. Now they are half-way down her thighs and the sweet thatch of her sex is open to his gaze and appreciation.

Star wriggles with delight. “I like this playful side of you,” she purrs, though it turns into another giggle as she witnesses the heat in his gaze; it sweeps up and down her body, stopping between her legs. 

She’s still wearing her bra, her socks, and her panties at half-mast, and she digs her nails into the bed, anticipation building as she wonders what he’ll do next. Will he strip her first completely? Pause to tease her a bit first? She’s tingling and wet already. “Enjoying the view?” she inquires.

“Very much,” he assures her, well-aware that his pet is trying to maintain herself. Leaning over her, he works his teeth on the underside of the bra, just under a cup, and tugs it up. When she wriggles, he repeats the action, baring her chest. The sight of her half-undressed and exposed is arousing, but Loki hesitates, not sure exactly what to do next. Stripping his pet is all well and good, but he’s not sure she’ll trust the touch of his hands. He’s not sure he can trust the touch of his own hands.

Loki settles for rubbing his cheek along her ribcage, letting his nose tickle one saucy nipple.

A soft gasp escapes her; it becomes a moan as his tongue traces a long damp line along the underside of one breast. She squirms, arching her back as he repeats the action on the other one, but he pauses then, as if waiting for a sign from her. “Shall I turn over so you can undo off my bra?” she asks breathlessly.

At his assenting nod, she does so, again fighting a squirm and a giggle as she feels soft kisses moving their way up her spine, from her tailbone to the middle of her back. His breath and tongue tickle her just below the clasp of her bra, and her breath catches in her throat. She wonders if he can get it off with only his lips and teeth, but sure enough, soon enough there’s a tug and the material falls loose. 

Star pulls it off and tosses it away, then rolls over to face him again. He’s resting on his elbows looking down at her, wariness written on his face again.

She doesn’t blame him. She’s tempted to say ‘You won’t break me’, but the point is, he _can_.

Instead she says: ‘I’m still here. You won’t scare me off that easily,” and punctuates it by threading her fingers in his hair again and pulling him down to crush her lips to his. Her tongue slips along his lower lip and he shudders, his mouth opening and his tongue moving across hers with barely-restrained hunger. She can feel his hand on her ribs, his touch still light and hesitant. The embroidery on the front of the tunic is prickly on her nipples, and she savours it, pressing her hips up into his body.

She tries to wrap her leg around him but her panties are preventing that. “I think we forgot to take off a few items,” she says huskily when they finally break apart.

“No, I rather like them where they are,” Loki tells her with a little breathiness to his voice. He slides a hand down from her ribs and across her stomach to let his fingers card lightly through her fur. “The mildest of restraints and very naughty to see.” 

He keeps his tough light, and stands ready to pull his hand back if she frowns, but the lovely image of his pet nearly nude now, eyes bright with desire makes him hungry for her in ways he cannot deny.

She arches up into his touch, scratching her nails lightly down his back, and he quivers beneath her fingertips. She can feel him throbbing against her thigh, encouraging her to press herself into that bulge, grinding against him. He rewards her efforts with a soft gasp, before he moves to cover her mouth with his again, stealing her breath.

He’s more assertive this time, his weight pressing her back on the mattress, and she closes her eyes, letting her head fall to the side when he relents, baring the length of her neck to him before her lust-addled brain remembers the marks.

Loki freezes. The sight of those smudges along that pale throat bring back the memory of his hand around her neck, and he draws in a breath himself, caught in a moment of indecision--an unfamiliar place for him. 

He makes a choice and closes his eyes. Carefully, tenderly Loki bends his face forward and kisses his pet, his hair brushing her as his lips delicately kiss an apology over the healing marks there. Each little kiss makes her moan as much with compassion as desire, and by the time he reaches under her jaw her lips are open.

Loki takes the invitation, kissing his way up her chin until he can take her mouth again, and she has to fight back a whimper. His warm fingers are still on her mound, stroking her curls. His touch is firmer now, though he doesn’t move lower. He’s stroking her like the pet he always calls her, and she tries to push up against his hand, but predictably he lightens his touch enough to maintain the tease.

Star permits it for a few more moments, and then reaches her own hand to stroke the lacing holding his pants closed. He shudders again, leaning slightly into her hand, and when he lets her come up for air she observes: “You seem to be enjoying this, too. Shall I disrobe you, my Lord? I won’t use my mouth to do that, if you don’t mind. We may be here all day otherwise,” she jokes, smiling up at him.

“Do what you will,” he agrees magnanimously, and smirks, his fingers lightly outlining the edges of her lips.

“Such a generous Lord,” she teases, winking, and his smirk deepens as he rolls onto his back. Star shifts up to kneel next to him, and though her panties fall around her knees she makes no move to remove them. If using them as a bondage device turns him on, fine by her.

He sits up and helps her pull the tunic over his head again, and she runs her fingernails softly over his pale skin, the flat planes of his muscles. She can feel his eyes on her face and her body, intense and amused at once. Suddenly a little shy, she leans to press kisses to his neck, his pectorals and nipples (his breathing hitches as she does the latter), then she brings his hand to her lips and traces each finger with lips and tongue. 

His palm flexes against her mouth, and she can feel a flashback trying to push its way to the surface of her mind. 

She releases his hand and pushes gently on his shoulders until he lies back, then she moves lower, shifting on her knees in small increments since her panties are restricting her motions. Star releases the lacing of his pants, slowly, and then pulls his boots and pants off just as slowly. He’s naked now, his erection visibly pulsing.

Star pauses, thinking, then goes to her hands and knees in the middle of the huge mattress, deliberately tugging the panties back to halfway up her thighs, spreading her legs just enough to keep them from falling down again. She looks over her shoulder at him, smirking. “I’ve been a bad, bad girl and I need to be spanked. If you’re willing, of course. Though I have a suggestion to make first, one which is sure to leave me . . . very _wet_ for you, my Prince.” She stumbles over the end of that sentence, embarrassed and turned on in equal increments.

Loki does a slow blink, trying very hard not to let his amusement show. One of the factors he does adore about his pet is how very blunt she usually is. This coyness is new, however and he strives to maintain a sense of dignity in the face of it. “I have no doubt you need correction, little gem; I’ve known _that_ since the day I met you.”  To emphasize it, he flexes his uninjured hand meaningfully, pleased to see it bring a blush to her face. “Your suggestion?”

“Come here. I want to whisper it in your ear,” she says. He complies without hesitation, and she can’t help a smirk. She allows her lips to brush his ear as she explains in a low voice: “Start slowly, and . . . tease me as you go along. Pain and pleasure together excites me. Spank me once or twice, and then play with my nipples. Or stroke between my legs. Touch me all over.” She pauses, licking dry lips, a tingling fanning out from between her legs to suffuse her entire body. 

“It’s no accident that the first night we met in person, I was topless. I was hoping you would take advantage of that as you punished me. Though sadly, your self-control was much stronger than I anticipated; few mortal men pass up a chance to cop a feel, especially when everything is, well, all hanging out.” She ends with a giggle, and then pauses to slowly run her tongue along the shell of his ear.

Loki sighs. “Our first night was a first for many things, and if I disappointed you then, remember _neither_ of us knew each other well enough to know what would please the other,” he reminds her gently. “You _are_ the first lover I have had in many years, pet.” Despite his words he slides his uninjured hand over her hip and nods. “Let us see how much more we know about each other now.”

It doesn’t take long to have Star drape herself over his knees as he sits up against the carved headboard of the bed, and the sight of her compliantly warm across his lap excites him anew. Loki brushes the back of his hands across her spine and down her legs, sensitizing the skin there in an almost ritualistic way. Three strokes, and he turns his uninjured hand to cup one rounded cheek of her ass, letting his palm warm the flesh there.

“You have indeed been bad,” he rumbles, amused when she gives a little shiver at the sound of his voice. “This may be painful, little pet, especially in places meant to be kissed and bitten.”

“I imagine you’ll get to the kissing and biting parts later,” she purrs encouragingly, wriggling in his lap. Then she hesitates. He’s right, she _had_ been disappointed to a certain extent after their first time, but . . .he’s no longer the arrogant, imperious ‘Master’ he’d seemed to be that first time. He’s vulnerable and far more empathetic than he first let on.

“On the topic of our first time,” she adds quickly, before the festivities begin, “‘Disappointment’ is a strong word. And whatever I felt, it was as much my own doing as yours. I should have said something to you earlier, and for that I’m sorry. Like I said, at first I thought you were just some hacker who was merely playing a little game of words with me, so I acted like I was willing. Then, when I realized you were real, it really . . . threw me off-balance. And when I came to you, you were angry - or playing the role of an angry Master, anyway - and I guess that, plus your not-exactly-savoury reputation made me feel like there was no room for me to hold up my hand and say ‘Wait a second, this is actually skirting edgeplay for me’.” The hand not resting lightly on her ass is in front of her on the mattress. It’s the one she bit earlier, and on impulse she reaches for it, bringing his palm to her lips so she can kiss it, run her tongue gently along the wounds.

She wriggles, enjoying the feeling of his skin against hers. His arousal is pressing into her, heavy and hot, and she arches, pushing her side into him and her buttocks back against the flat of his palm as she releases his injured hand.

Loki takes a breath, making an attempt to compose himself, but his body isn’t willing to cooperate and his cock throbs harder. He clears his throat.

“Shhhh, the past shall not trouble us in our moment. So . . . bad, were you? Hmmmm,” he considers and hesitates a moment before lifting his hand and bringing it down again, lighter than he normally would, but still with enough force to make a satisfyingly meaty sound. Part of him inwardly smirks since yes, it IS gratifying to be able to do this, and another part waits to see if there are . . . consequences to what he’s just done. His injured hand slips along the side of his pet’s shoulder closest to him and strokes, then meanders lower along the curve of her breast.

“Oh yessss,” she answers his earlier question with a soft gasp. The sting of the blow is perfect, delicious. She squirms, a low moan slipping from her throat as his injured hand moves lower, tweaking and rolling her nipple. “And I expect I may be _bad_ again, if this is the reaction I get from you,” she murmurs huskily. “Maybe even _very bad_.”

At that he merely laughs.

Slowly and deliciously he strings out the smacks between little caresses of her body, letting his hands linger where he has struck, toying with her nipples and letting his fingertips slide between her damp thighs to tickle the wet fur there. Loki enjoys her trust, and enjoys how his pet is truly becoming more and more aroused. For his own part however, while his body is eager to join with hers, he still feels a sense of caution in moving too quickly and making some wrong-footed action.

It’s not a matter of not wanting--he does _want_ her very much--but more about making sure they are both pleased.

His strikes have been gradually getting harder, and Star gives a soft noise of delight after each one, writhing in his lap and fisting her hands in the sheets as the teases follow. 

Her whole body seems to pulse, her skin lightly sheened with sweat. She’s _so_ wet now, just as she promised him, but greedily she spreads her legs as wide as the panties will allow - Loki truly is evil, turning them into a restraint like that - and sets all dignity aside in her need. 

“Please,” she begs hoarsely, quivering as he tugs gently on first one, then the other of her nipples. “Please Loki, I need to feel your fingers, i-inside me.” 

He knows better than to tease now; that would only start more trouble, so he gives her what she craves, stroking into her heated cunt slowly. From her shudders it definitely feels good, and Loki does it for a few minutes before withdrawing and bending to whisper to her.

“I think you need more than fingers, bad girl. I think you need what only _I_ can give you.”  


When Star groans, he knows he’s just been forgiven _and_ given the go-ahead.

She doesn’t resist as he pushes her with obvious care up off his lap, and she waits for him on all fours, trembling as he maneuvers himself into position behind her. She can’t spread her legs too much, the panties still prevent that, and the fit is snug and insanely thrilling when he thrusts slowly inside her. 

Star cries out her enjoyment and pushes back against his entry, bracing her elbows on the mattress. 

He moves, his length caressing her from the inside as he withdraws almost totally. His fingers press into the hot cheeks of her ass, kneading, and Star shivers and moans. She feels one hand lift from her skin, and a second later there’s a hard swat to replace it. Her hips jerk and another cry falls from her lips, but he’s already pushing back into her, faster and harder this time. She shudders again, dizzy with pain and pleasure, which is driven only higher when he does it all over again, targeting the opposite cheek of her backside this time. 

“Loki,” she gasps out. It’s a plea and an affirmation.

He can barely control himself now as all his senses come into sharp, painful focus all along the length of his prick, and Loki rocks into his pet, groaning a warning. “I cannot . . . hold back much more . . .”

She can’t answer him with words -- he’s driven her past the point of coherency -- so she does so with her body, driving herself back to meet each of his thrusts. She reaches up between her own legs to stroke her nub, and just in time. 

Loki shudders out a rasping breath and pulls her back onto him hard, fingers tight on her hips, and she can feel each throb as he spills into her. She presses circles around her clit and cries out, the spasms spreading through her, swallowed up by heat and pressure.

She sags forward, muscles spent, but Loki’s arm wraps around her waist, drawing her down and back against them, the two of them curled together on their sides. His warm breath puffs against the back of her neck, and she can almost feel his heartbeat against her spine. 

“Well,” she can’t resist quipping, voice a little hoarse, “apparently you _can_ teach an old god new tricks.”

“The pet teaching her master?” Loki manages in a barely coherent voice. “Maybe _I_ deserve a collar of my own.”

He hasn’t been this sated in a long time, and the drowsiness is hard to fight, but there are matters hygienic to tend to, so Loki manages enough magic to make withdrawing and sprawling with Star a much cleaner affair than it usually would be. She curls into his embrace, damp and sweet, just as sleepy as he is. 

They will both be out fairly soon, Loki knows. Sex is the ultimate relaxer, for men and gods everywhere. He waits though, until her breathing evens out before he closes his own eyes, feeling grateful to be back on surer footing with his pet.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star and Loki ‘play’ together in Niflheim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: We don’t own Loki. I guess we weren’t naughty enough this year for Santa to give Loki’s ownership to us as a present? *cries*
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> Banner made by **cincoflex**!
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By the time Loki opens his eyes the light from the windows indicates it is late afternoon, and the coming night will be no clearer than the previous one. He yawns, feeling marvelously relaxed, and turns to nuzzle his pet, who has her little back turned to him.

Easily he slips around her, enveloping her form with his, gratified when she gives a happy murmur and presses back against him. Against a certain part of him, in fact.

_ Such a thoughtful pet _ , he muses and slides a hand along her ribs to cup a breast, caressing it gently.

Her first thought when she wakes up is how warm and comfortable she is. Nothing aches any longer - well, except for her ass - the sheets are soft, and best of all, there’s a long, warm body wrapping itself around hers, a hand lightly teasing her nipple, and something rather firm poking her in the butt.

She smiles but doesn’t open her eyes. “And here I thought _I_ was the insatiable one,” she observes with a chuckle.

“You often are,” Loki murmurs against the crown of her head, “but when each day breaks, males across the universe arise . . . so to speak. To each his hammer, or spear, all the better to forge erotic mischief.”

This observation makes his pet snicker and roll towards him, and he loves the way her eyes soften upon seeing him.

“And of course, you _would_ know all about mischief,” Star comments with a knowing smirk, reaching up to twine her fingers in his hair and tug him gently down for a good morning kiss.

Their tongues play for a long moment, before she has to pull back breathlessly. “What’s on the agenda for today? Are we going to this big banquet tonight, or were you planning on canceling our ‘reservation’ and getting the heck out of Dodge?” She pretends to ignore the fact that he’s nudging her in the belly with his _dagger_. So to speak.

“I would be better to attend the banquet,” Loki tells her, frowning a little. “The Regent would find it suspicious if I took my leave before it, and you are my alibi . . . among _other_ things.”

He shakes his hair back but it continues to fall over his shoulders.. “I should hack this off,” Loki grumbles. “For all the good it does me.”

Star’s eyes widen. “I think it does you a _lot_ of good. To quote Paris Hilton, ‘It’s hot’. So if I get a vote, then my vote is to leave it just as it is. I like having a ‘handle’ to help me do _this_ -” She slides her hands up from the back of his neck to tangle in his locks again, tugging until she can press her mouth to his. Her tongue flirts with his lips and tongue before she leans back again.

“We can go to the banquet if that’s what you want,” she continues. “I was under the impression from some things you said yesterday that your business would be completed before then, and you’d prefer to leave once those tasks were complete. I was just checking.” Star smiles and wraps her leg around his, grinding her hips lazily against his body.

“I’m your alibi ‘and more’, am I?” she chuckles, pressing up against him so that his prick is sandwiched between her soft belly and his much harder one. “So glad you find me useful, my Lord,” she adds wryly.

“My business with the Regent--or more properly his vault--is concluded, which is why it would be suspicious to leave before the banquet,” Loki told her, his hips beginning to rock under the pressure from Star’s. “Having seen you, I’m sure he assumes all my time has been spent here in bed with you and not out seeking items . . .” It is hard to concentrate, and he trails off, feeling his nostrils flare. He shifts back to her earlier words. “I should leave it longer?” 

Loki sighs. He’s always been in Thor’s shadow when it comes to appearances, and has never considered himself handsome, especially after discovering his true form. Nevertheless his pet’s approval warms him, and he manages a lopsided smirk. “Very well. At the least my neck shall stay warm.”

It’s easy to slip his hands lower and caress her ass, but a quick squeeze makes his pet hiss and belatedly Loki remembers this section of her anatomy is still tender. “Forgive me,” he whispers. “Perhaps I should kiss them and make them all better.”

“The Regent’s assumptions are not far wrong, I’d say,” Star can’t help pointing out with yet another smirk. “We do seem to spend a lot of time in bed. Not that I’m complaining, of course.” She presses herself a little more firmly against him, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he works to suppress a groan.

“And if you want to _kiss my ass_ , please feel free,” she adds with a little purr. “I’m sure, in fact, that your kisses will make everything better.”

He laughs and slithers down under the sheet, sliding hands around his pet to roll her over, settling her on her stomach before brushing his chin along the trough of her spine. “How true,” he tells Star as he checks to see if there are any marks left from the night before.

There are; faint traces of pink lines cross each cheek and seeing them brings a pang of guilt to Loki’s stomach and he hesitates, but lightly he presses kisses on them, making sure he’s gentle.

He will do this from now on, he knows: check to make sure she is unhurt, that she is well.

From the roll of his pet’s hips, the sensation must be ticklish so Loki catches her hands and guides them to the small of her back. “Stay still,” he purrs, “very still.”

It’s fun to kiss now, letting his lips brush her skin, stopping to let his tongue dart along the sweet crease just under the buttocks at the top of each thigh.

Star groans in mingled protest and pleasure. Of course, he _would_ turn this into a little power game between them. She presses her face into the pillows, struggling to hold still as his tongue makes slow, damp, _ticklish_ lines across her skin.

He’s such a _cheater_. He has intimate knowledge of her body, knows exactly what it will take to make her squirm and fight to stay still. He’s using that knowledge without mercy, making her whimper and gasp -- at least he didn’t order her to stay silent -- and burrow her head into the pillow with each press of lips and flick of serpentine tongue.

His hand remains around her wrists, trapping them in strength and warmth, and she feels his other hand now on her inner thigh, gently pushing it outward. _Oh God,_ she thinks, trying not to tense. _What now?_ She’s already quivering, her fists clenched, trying to keep her hips glued to the mattress. 

“Such a lovely sight,” Loki whispers. “All of you open to me, needing me this way. Nothing else stirs me as much as this, my pet.” 

He stretches out on top of her, letting his thick cock nestle between her thighs and pins her with enough weight to hold his pet still against the sheet. Loki doesn’t need to hold her hands now; his body against hers is enough to do that. A slow rock of his hips and now his prick is sliding between her legs, rubbing through her lips but not penetrating her, nudging the underside of her clit very gently.

“Lovely,” he breathes again, a laugh in his voice. “Enough to build heat but not quite enough to tip, isn’t it? And slick,” he croons. “Nicely slick.”

Oh yes, Star will acknowledge, the _heat_ is considerable. He’s very warm -- again, she has to ask herself: Frost Giant? _Really_? Says who, exactly? -- and the sheet is trapping their combined body heat. She’s sweating, which helps Loki’s body glide against hers.

She pants and writhes as much as she can, which isn’t much, shuddering when he brushes against her in certain perfect ways. “Careful I don’t melt you, Mr. Frost Giant,” she growls, turning to look back towards him. “And if you’ll forgive me for pointing out the obvious, the longer you deny me, the longer you deny _yourself_ as well.”

Deliberately she arches, pressing up and rubbing her ass into him, doing her best to heighten the delicious friction.

Loki lets her push back against him, and growls a little, his voice rumbling in a laugh. “Take me then, if you wish. I’m right here.” 

He has her pinned, but Loki figures his pet is clever and will guide him where he --or rather a large part of him anyway-- needs to be. In the meantime it’s a delight to press so much skin to hers, and drink in her heat. As long as nobody disturbs them this little game can last.

_ Well, if that’s an invitation- _ She works her hand underneath herself until she can touch him, though the shudder that wracks him as she wraps her hand around him encourages her to stroke and tease her fingers along his length. 

He gasps and she grins into the pillow, before using the head of his shaft like a toy, deliberately rubbing it against her clit until her toes curl and heat pulses through her body, her breaths falling hoarsely from her open mouth.

Loki rides the shudders of her body, aroused and pleased all in one. It’s probably good that his pet can’t see his smug expression, so he concentrates on keeping still until the last of her shivers dies away.

“Not quite ‘taking’ me, but very sexy little toy,” Loki murmurs, his voice deeper than before. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” As he speaks he reaches around one of her hips and caresses himself, knuckles brushing along the inside of one thigh as he does so. “My turn?”

“Why should I do the expected, when I can do the _un_ expected?” she laughs. “Like, for example, _this_ -” She flexes the hand trapped underneath her body, trying to lessen the pins-and-needles in it, then stretches it back and wraps around Loki’s shaft, her fingers smoothing along the slick head.

His hips jerk against hers, and she can feel his stuttering, surprised breaths against the damp back of her neck.

It takes a few moments of adjusting, but she manages to copy the rhythm of his hand, both of them stroking in tandem. His other hand is white-knuckled where it is braced on the pillows just above her head, and a low growl rumbles deep in the chest pressed against her back.

Star allows her nails to tease the sensitive spot just under the head, and Loki’s growl rises in volume, his hips pushing harder and harder against hers.

He lets go of his shaft, allowing his pet to continue stroking him, and simply keeping himself arched against her is work enough. Something about the grip of her fingers--so different from his own--has him breathing hard, and the added caress of her thighs and fur all further tantalize each stroke. Loki wishes they had a mirror; then they could watch themselves at this.

He lightly nips the side of her throat, letting each breath heat the shell of her ear, and knows he can’t hold out much longer now.

He’s nearing the edge, she can tell just by how fast and deeply he is breathing, by the tight feel of his muscles against her back. _I wonder how long he’ll last if I-?_  


Star gives him a final stroke and then guides him inside her. The noise he makes into her ear in response is his loudest yet, before he’s driving inside her hard enough to push the air out of her lungs.

Loki’s thrusts are sharp and erratic, forcing her body hard against the mattress. His fists clench the pillows tightly enough that Star hears seams pop, and he spills himself into her with a final bone-shaking groan. His forehead drops to rest on the back of her head, his damp hair hanging around both their faces. 

He feels utterly alive. The heat and power, the overwhelming pleasure suffuse Loki with the sort of joy he hasn’t felt in years, and his grateful sigh blows against the back of his pet’s neck as he struggles to keep his weight from crushing her. Quietly, to her alone he whispers, “Thank you, my love,” before reluctantly sliding free of her and rolling to one side, absently casting the quick clean-up spell as he does so.

It’s a few moments before he can focus again, and when he does, Loki hums, his tone bringing the ghostly hands into being.

“We must dine,” he tells his pet, “So that everyone will see us and envy our lust.”  


Star snorts. “Is that the Asgardian equivalent of locker room bragging?” She stretches and pats the sweat from her body with the edge of the sheet, then rolls out of bed, wincing a little again at the cold feel of the floor.

She scoops up the mirror from the night-table on reflex, checking her neck. Only the faintest trace of the finger-marks now, and she gives a sigh of relief, putting the mirror down again.

She gives the ghostly hands a glance, and then turns to Loki with her eyebrow raised. She presumes they are here to help her dress, but . . . she’s been wrong before.

“We must prepare,” he tells her with a soft smile. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Star smiles back at him. “Oh yes. Very much so.” She wraps her arms around herself, shivering a little in the slightly chilly room. 

Loki gives a satisfied nod and the hands pick Star up, carrying her to the bathroom as he follows behind, still humming.

Bathing is definitely fun, but Loki keeps any playing light; he knows they need to be on time to this last meal and he intends his pet to be the glory of the night. After bathing her, he chooses a lace gown, debating over the silver with tiger-eyes or the sage with pink diamonds. She takes his concern with amusement, allowing him and the ghostly hands to dress her and arrange her hair.

The last item to go on is her collar, gleaming and gorgeous around her pale neck. The marks are gone, although Loki still feels the guilt, and kisses her skin before securing the necklace. “There. Mine and no others,” he tells her firmly.

He dresses, aware of his pet watching him, which he enjoys. Loki keeps humming, moving to lace himself but Star moves to do it, her manner gentle but the look in her eye promises no true submission at all, and he laughs. More leather, polished and scented, and then she takes the hairbrush, looking up at him.

Loki smirks at her, obviously recognizing her intent, and before she needs to ask he seats himself in the nearest chair. Star grins and moves to stand behind him, waving the ghostly hands away and running the hairbrush carefully through the jet locks.

She finds herself continuing to steal glances down at the sage gown he chose for her. The small diamonds wink at her, each one larger than the single diamond she habitually wears in her engagement ring (currently tucked into the pocket of her jeans by the bed, of course).

“I think this single gown would fetch more at an Earth auction than I could hope to make at my job in an entire lifetime!” she can’t help noting out loud, chuckling as she tackles a particularly stubborn cowlick near the back of his head. 

“Yes,” Loki agrees, but there is no malice in his tone. Instead he luxuriates in her touch, almost purring. “Tonight we shall be envied, truly, and with good reason. By tomorrow we take our leave, you to your world and I to a place more dangerous than any I have traveled to so far. Therefore let us make a night of it, my pet.”

He catches her hand to still the brush and rises, managing a smile. She’s beautiful, the shade of the gown lovely against her skin, and he knows the Regent will definitely talk to her tonight. Loki touches the ring on his pinky fitting it more tightly. “Shall we?”

His mention of danger makes Star nervous. She grasps at his hand. “You will . . .be careful, won’t you? Tomorrow, I mean.” She bites her lip and wonders if she dares to ask him what he’s up to, to ask what’s so important that he’s putting himself at such risk.

“Concern? How . . . caring of you,” Loki murmurs, touched by this token of affection. His pet has yet to admit her love for him, although moments like these are happening more often. He reaches for her and kisses it, letting his lips linger a moment. “I am always careful, Pet and now more than ever, since I have a reason to be.”

He holds her gaze, then tucks her arm through his and leads her out of the room.

 

*~*~*

 

The hall is as brightly lit as before and more ostentatious than Loki thought would be possible, but it is the last night and the Regent looks pleased with himself. These alliances and dalliances are his once-a-year delight, and Loki is glad to have used the invitation to gain his prize. Consorts and guests make way for him and his pet; he nods to a few acquaintances, and glares at a few others, enjoying the feel of his pet’s hand on his arm.

“See? You outshine them,” he tells her in a whisper, “and half the thrill is remembering what you look like under your lovely gown. I know every male here is fantasizing about it but only I *know* how gorgeous your sex is.”

Star can feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Gee, uh, thanks?” she murmurs. She nods in greeting to the dwarf who was sitting next to her at the earlier meal, pausing to allow him to kiss her hand.

More than few women are gazing at her dress with obvious envy, whispering to each other as their eyes rake up and down her body, and Star does her best to appear oblivious. 

She can see the Regent across the room and she steels herself. No doubt he’ll be practically drooling over her tonight -- which seems to be Loki’s plan, though that does not mean she’s comfortable with it. Something tells her the Regent would be similarly enamored no matter what she wore. He’s obviously looking to add a ‘Midgardian’ notch to his bedpost. The thought has her suppressing a shudder.

_ Why did I think this was a good idea, again?  _ she chides herself.

As if reading her thoughts, Loki shoots her a sidelong glance, taking in the trepidation on her face. “You are Midgardian nobility and my consort,” he assures her. “Far above the provincials here in every way. Treat each as they treat you and all shall be well my gem.”

They sit to the Regent’s left, and Loki gives Privaldr his best chilly smile. “Good evening.”

“That it is,” the Regent replies, barely meeting Loki’s glance. “Finally decided to leave your bed, did you? I bet the two of you have an appetite . . . at least for food now!” he guffaws at his own bawdy joke, and a few of the other guests grin.  
Loki gives a worldly shrug. “My lady is a treasure beyond value, Privaldr; an enchantress no man can resist.” 

As he says this, he feels Star’s hand on his thigh, squeezing it in warning.

She’s blushing again. _Damn it._ “My Lord exaggerates . . .slightly,” she demurs, producing her best haughty look. _What the hell is he_ doing _?_ She can’t see what possible advantage Loki could believe it to be, to have the Regent fixated on her. Didn’t Loki say he’d . . . acquired everything he needed here already? 

Star - Sigyn, she has to remember that her name in this context is _Sigyn_ \- reaches for her silver, gem-encrusted wine-cup and takes a sizable sip. Something tells her she’ll need it. 

They dine. The food is nothing short of amazing--whole boars, pheasants and enormous fish arriving in dish after platter. Loki takes little but enjoys what he takes--odious as Privaldr is, he does have a decent cook. It’s easy to make light conversation, and he holds his tongue, not wanting to aggravate anyone, but to Star he makes malicious asides about the others and she tries not to laugh too often.

Finally the meal is over, and the regent nods the dismissal, allowing the couples to rise and move to the next room while the table is cleared away. Loki leads Star, pleased with her decorum and grace. They step into a long chamber and at the far end are a gathering of musicians tuning up.

Dancing. Loki smiles.

_ Oh cool! _ How many humans besides her have been in a position to hear alien music? Star has to hide her excitement.

During the first few slow tunes, the crowd stands around chatting and drinking, and as throughout the meal, Star is uncomfortably aware of being watched. Privaldr, of course, and she struggles to contain her disgust. _Dude, get a life!_  
She leans into Loki’s side. “Looks like you accomplished your goal, whatever it was. I can feel He Who Needs a  Bath ’s eyes on me nearly constantly. Ugh!”

Predictably, Loki smirks, but before he can answer, the musicians strike up a new tune, this one much faster and with an infectious rhythm. All around them, groups are breaking up into twos and threes and beginning to move in coordinated steps.

Star starts to move off to the side, watching with great interest, when she realizes Loki isn’t following her. She turns back and he’s grinning at her. With his hand out.

Her eyes widen. “You want me to-? Uh, I don’t know the steps. And I don’t think I’m nearly drunk enough.” 

“Twinkle, twinkle, little Star,” he purrs, and as she goes pink, he pulls her along, moving deliberately so she can follow him. It’s a simple dance; one of the more elegant ones he used to practice with Frigga (and to her amusement, Thor) back when he was a boy. If he could learn it then, his pet should be able to do it now. She’s light enough on her feet.

The look she shoots him promises mayhem later, and he laughs, lifting his chin and feeling like a prince. Others are watching, dancing themselves, smiling. To her credit Star takes to it after a few hesitant steps, and all goes well until Privaldr decides to join in their group.

“Please, God, let him _not_ come over here,” Star prays out loud. She looks up at Loki, who looks amused by the prospect. “Don’t you dare let me go, or I swear I’ll step on your feet,” she hisses, trying to make it look only like she’s leaned into Loki to kiss him. 

This would actually be kind of fun - it’s kind of a bizarre cross between a cotillion and a waltz - if it wasn’t for everyone _watching_. And the prospect of having to dance with the Great Unwashed Regent. 

Loki takes the kiss, whispering back, “I will never let you go.” It’s worth it to see her surprised expression, and then the regent is there, smiling and sweating.  
“Your lady dances like a petal in the wind,” he murmurs.

Loki nods and spins his pet away. “Well said, Privaldr. She IS my lady.” They move through the other dancers elegantly, leaving the regent watching after them. Loki waits until the music dies down to flash a smile at Starr. “That’s a cut that shall sting for a while, but nothing he doesn’t deserve. Baiting a bore is such fun.”

Normally Star wouldn’t approve of baiting anyone, but Privaldr creeps her out enough that she’ll let it go this time. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, my Prince,” she says, her voice pitched for his ears alone as she looks up through her lashes at him. “I’ll be sure to reward you for it in the near future.”

At his raised eyebrow, she adds coyly, “Well, you _did_ say something about wanting to be muzzled, if I recall correctly.” She slips her arms around his waist and presses herself up against him, though she is fully aware of other peoples’ eyes on them.

He laughs in a low, pleased tone. “All this, and a promise of more? How fortunate can a god get?”

Before his pet can reply another tune starts up; this one slower and more sensual. There is a shift in the mood of the room and Loki feels the heat rise among the couples and trios dancing. They slow and press closer this time, with lingering gazes and flirtatious glances. Even the regent has a partner now, although his gaze returns time after time their way. Carefully Loki pulls Star to himself and breathes in deeply. “Shall you take me prisoner in the morning? If so, then I must enjoy this last night.”

“Oh please, you _love_ being my ‘prisoner’,” Star teases, deliberately rubbing up against the growing bulge in his tight pants. 

He’s solid and warm, and she sighs in contentment, leaning her cheek against his chest. They sway together slowly, his hand on her waist holding her firmly against him. His other hand gently grips hers, the thumb gently stroking the back of her hand, and she wishes they were alone and that she could concentrate entirely on his touch. 

Not that she isn’t enjoying the closeness, but it would be nice not to have to worry about stepping on his feet!

“Asgard raises fine dancers,” Star observes, smiling up at him. “I imagine fancy footwork would help in battle, too.”

“My brother is lighter on his feet than his size would have anyone believe,” Loki tells her, keeping his touch light but consistent, and constant. “Grace helps him in battle, and me . . . in other places. Places I am far more interested in returning to. Are you ready to leave this hall in triumph, or shall we tarry a while longer?”

As he speaks he makes sure the gold ring is still on his pinky, barely noticeable in the dimmer light.

“I think I’ve had enough of Privaldr’s eyes on my ass, yes. Though I suppose we should go and thank him for his hospitality. My parents raised me to always be polite,” Star answers with a smirk. 

Loki nods and they move through the dancers, making their farewells. She steels herself as they approach the Regent. _Here we go again. Oh well, I can handle one last time._

“Retiring already?” he asks, his knowing gaze once again raking over Star in a completely unsubtle fashion.

“We hope to make an early start in the morning,” Loki replies smoothly, “After we finish tonight of course. Your generosity will be your undoing, Privaldr, and I appreciate all that I have received here. Sleep well.”

He inclines his head ever so slightly to his host and barely allows the Regent to brush overly moist lips over his pet’s hand before whisking her away and towards the stairs, fighting the urge to stop and wipe her fingers off. 

Star brushes the back of her hand against her dress, making a disgusted expression as soon as they are alone. “Thank God _that_ ’s over.” 

They stop in front of their rooms and Star barely waits for Loki to close the doors behind them before she starts to strip down. “This is gorgeous -- easily the most elegant and expensive thing I’ve ever worn -- but I hope you’ll excuse me if I change into something more comfortable,” she says apologetically, smiling up at him as she sits on the bed and starts to unlace a boot.

Loki watches her, studying the way his pet takes care with the boots and dress not in an overly seductive way, but with feminine care and appreciation. He could simply magic away all the clothing between them but it’s a private pleasure to simply observe the way Star does things, and it dawns on him that he is looking forward to . . . sleeping with her. 

As in _with_ her. Someone to hold and cling to through the night. Another body against his, over and around his to keep the chill away. It’s such a marvelous fact all by itself that he smiles. The sex is certainly thrilling and fulfilling, but this is a little  . . . secret. This joy of being more than the male to her female is new, and charming and a little frightening.

Star smoothes a few wrinkles out of the dress as she hangs it back in Loki’s wardrobe, then turns to find him standing there, watching her and smiling mysteriously.

She raises a brow but walks over to him, giving him an answering smile as she starts to help him remove his clothing. First his boots, then the leathers, then his tunic and shirt. 

He’s still smiling the whole time, and finally Star’s curiosity gets the better of her. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Loki reaches out to brush a lock away from her temple. “You will never bribe them from me--at least not with money.”

He slips his arms around her. “And now we begin a new dance,” Loki whispers. “How it shall end is up to you. Are you tired from the evening?”

She leans into him, smirking as she feels his shaft already stirring against her belly. “A little,” she admits, “but that’s never stopped me before. What did you have in mind? Did you want me to ‘take you prisoner’ right now?” She bats her eyelashes and presses closer, rubbing herself against his warmth.

Loki holds a hand high and concentrates; seemingly out of the air a beautifully intricate muzzle appears, silver and imposing.  He brings his arm down and gives it to Star, letting her examine the piece. “In the morning, I think, when you can see me in this in good light. Put it somewhere safe and by daybreak you may test me with it, pretty toy. For now--we rest.”

With care he scoops her up again and carries her to the bed, setting her on the covers before climbing in next to her and stretching out, feeling content.

 

*~*~*

 

Star wakes to the very pleasant feeling of a long body pressed against her back, and an arm loosely cradling her. She stretches, nearly purring out loud, and Loki stirs against her . . . in more ways than one.

When she’s sure he’s awake, she reaches under her pillow to retrieve the muzzle, holding it up so he can see it too. “Shall we have a quick snack and then . . . _play_ , my ice prince?” she inquires.

“As my lady desires,” he murmurs into her hair, nuzzling it at the back of her neck. Loki sends out the silent command and the ghostly hands carry over bowls of fruit and a platter of small cakes still warm. When Star looks over her shoulder at him, he smirks.

“The kitchen far below will not miss them. Or would you prefer porridge?”

He himself likes porridge, hot, with honey and a handful of nuts in it; a pair of the hands bring him a bowl and Loki sits up to take it, breathing in the scent before taking a spoonful.

“I’ll have a bit of everything, I think. Something tells me I’ll need the energy to keep up with you,” she smirks, and the hands bring her a smaller bowl of porridge. 

Star makes quick work of all the food -- it’s delicious and she’s starving -- and then she slips naked from the bed, padding across the icy floor to Loki’s wardrobe, which is still standing sentry in the middle of the room. She’s well aware of Loki’s hungry gaze tracking her, so she puts a little extra wiggle into her hips as she walks. 

She opens the doors, humming to herself as she surveys the contents. There are the two gowns she wore already, several other gowns of fabrics costly enough to take her breath away, multiple items that are clearly Loki’s clothes, and as she hoped, the sets of lingerie they bought at Très Méchante.

She decides on the red corset and panty set, and as she selects them, she notices a pair of tall, high-heeled boots in the corner of the closet. Women’s boots. She cocks her head, studying them. Loki’s never taken her shoe shopping, but they look to be her size.

Star snags them as well, then sits down on a chair and starts to dress, slowly. Loki is leaning back on his elbows watching her every move, his gaze smouldering. It’s like doing a strip-tease for him, but in reverse, and Star can sense the anticipation building. Once she has the panties on she moves to the boots, sliding her feet into them and lacing them all the way to the top, and just as she suspected, they fit like a glove. 

She picks up the corset and wraps it around herself, doing the top hook in the back, then she smiles and slinks over to the bed, turning around once she gets there. “Thank you for the boots. You _do_ think of everything,” she murmurs. “Would you give me a hand with my corset, my prince?”

“With rare pleasure,” Loki purrs back, feeling his stomach tense. He slithers off the bed and carefully does up the hooks, working smoothly and letting his touch linger along her spine as he does so. Once his pet is sufficiently encased, he stands behind her, waiting and fighting the urge to pounce.

She smirks back over her shoulder at him -- his interest is _very_ obvious -- then she reaches for the muzzle on her pillow. “And now we need to dress you, my Loki. Turn around.” Her last two words are sterner, commanding. She places a hand on her hip, waiting to see how quickly he will move.

Loki draws a breath, feeling himself stiffen further. There is something erotically sweet about having his pet bare her little claws, and he takes his time turning, wondering  if he should kneel or not. Considering how much taller he is, it may come to that. 

“Will you need a chair?” he murmurs over his shoulder, trying not to chuckle.  
Star delivers a swift smack to his buttock, which yields a stifled gasp and a glare from Loki, but she focuses instead on how his shaft twitches harder as well. “Quite impertinent, little prince. I think you really do want to be muzzled. Kneel.”  
He does, slowly and gracefully, his head turned so his gaze falls hot on her. She steps forward, cupping his chin in her hand and raising his face, lowering hers -- though she doesn’t have to bend much, even kneeling he’s still damned tall -- so their lips are barely a breath apart. 

“My poor ice prince,” she says, voice pitched low. “So obviously in need of my firm hand.” She stretches a leg forward, allowing the leather of her boot to brush against the side of his shaft, and Loki’s jaw flexes under her fingers. “Aren’t you?” she asks, voice sharpening, her hand sliding lower to stroke nails lightly down his Adam’s apple.

“It seems to me your hands are _very_ firm,” Loki counters, sweet but with a hint of defiance. “As are your lips and breasts. I admire firmness.”

The look on her face is worth it, and it takes tremendous control not to laugh at how adorable she is, pouting and fierce in her little way. Loki clears his throat, all too aware of how still his prick is, how it throbs. He shifts to part his knees, all the better to accommodate his discomfort.

She had been planning to kiss him, but--“Oh yes, someone _definitely_ needs to be silenced,” Star remarks as she studies the clasp at the back of the muzzle. It doesn’t take long to figure out how to open it, then she fits it carefully around his jaw and neck and locks it closed again, stepping back to look him over. “Lovely,” she declares.

His eyes smoulder up at her, his jaw flexing a little as he tests her work. Star lets her gaze draw down his body, lingering on a certain body part. “Excited, are we, little prince? How interesting. For all your talk of desiring to rule, it is just _so_ easy to arouse you when _I_ am the one holding the power.”

Of course Loki glares at her, but Star is already turning away. “Hands!” she calls, “Bring me the ice prince’s ‘toy-box’. I must choose what delicious torments to subject him to.”

The ghostly hands race to do her bidding, but once the toy-box is floating in front of her, Star changes her mind, turning back to Loki again as she waves the hands away for now. “Get up and bend over the edge of the bed. I’ve decided you’ll need to _earn_ your toys, Loki of Asgard.”

Any protest he tries to make is muffled by the muzzle, and he slips his tongue out to taste the cool silver. It’s been a long time since this device has been around his face in a bedroom, and the metal against his lips has him breathing more quickly.

He rises and shifts, turning from his pet and moving to the bed, cupping his hands over his groin, managing a discreet stroke as he does so. Will she see that and make some comment? Loki isn’t sure, and that uncertainty is exciting too. He strolls to the bed, shaking his long hair like a spirited stallion and looks to Star, eyes bright.

Star smirks right back at him. “Such modesty has no place here. Put your hands on the mattress.” He does, and she walks slowly over, heels clicking sharply on the stones, to stand behind him.

She studies his backside for a long moment as she considers her next move. He really does have a delectable ass, well-muscled and shapely. Star reaches to stroke it, trailing her fingertips down one smooth curve, and he makes a soft noise into the muzzle, shifting into her touch.

She should probably use the flogger, but something about using her hand is appealing. He mentioned before how he has been allowing himself to be more physically vulnerable when he’s with her, and she supposes she is about to find out just how much that is the case.

Her hand stings after just the first swat, but she grits her teeth and strikes him twice more with the same hand, before switching to her other hand and the other cheek of his backside. Star doubts she’s hurting him at all, but she _is_ getting a reaction; he makes a muffled noise each time, and between his spread thighs it’s easy to observe his prick twitching after every blow, pearled droplets occasionally falling from the tip to decorate the covers below him. 

Loki is suddenly glad for the muzzle, because his pet’s smacks have some heat to them. He allows himself a chance to feel them, enjoy the burn as it were, and his grunts are muffled behind the silver. In a risky move he glances over his shoulder, tossing his hair back again as he does so, fingers flexing against the coverlet.

He throbs. His body thrives on this; sensation and satiation, building to a keen edge of desire tinted with pain. Loki’s not sure if it comes from being an Ice Giant, or something in his own slightly twisted personality, but if he can’t inflict pain, he’s willing to take it--some of it anyway--and cherish how it makes him feel alive. His spine arches a bit and he squares his shoulders, waiting for whatever his pet brings next.

To Star’s surprise, his skin is slightly pink from her strikes. It’s probably an illusion, knowing him, and she smirks as their eyes meet over the pale expanse of his back.

“Good boy,” she purrs, unable to resist the urge to stroke him. His skin is warmed under her touch, and she raises a brow. This is either a really good, detailed illusion, or Loki is _really_ making himself vulnerable. An interesting choice.

She allows her nails to tease lightly across the surface of his backside, and he shudders. “My pet prince,” she croons, enjoying the feel of his flesh. So many lovely firm muscles shifting under her touch, especially as she draws her fingertips down the backs of his thighs. With a wicked grin, she trails a fingertip across the tender bridge of skin just above his heavy balls, and his whole body twitches, the silver swallowing his gasp.

“Be still,” she commands, following it with a slap that echoes loudly in the room and brings more colour to his pale skin. Star strikes the other cheek for good measure - can’t have him unbalanced, after all - but she relents and decides she’d prefer to touch him again, massaging his backside, pressing her fingers firmly into warmed skin and muscle, and Loki closes his eyes and sighs. Cocking her head, Star slips her fingers into the loose strands of his hair, stroking along his scalp. _He_ ever _cuts this gorgeous hair, I’ll give him hell._

He smiles behind the muzzle, enjoying the moment, knowing full well that his pet is having fun in man-handling him. She’s a natural at it, although she’d never admit as much, Loki knows. Something in that Midgardian mentality won’t allow his pet to do so.

And this . . . well it’s definitely having an effect on him. A very enthusiastic one. Loki knows he’s got his share of vanity, but each smack is making his prick thicker and harder. It’s not the pain, or the humiliation but some twisted combination of them both that brings him to this balancing point.

“Pinch me,” he murmurs before he realizes it. He keeps still, wondering if saying such a thing is a transgression or not. 

Star blinks as his muffled words register, then frowns; the idea doesn’t really appeal to her. Well, in some areas yes, others no. She gives each cheek of his backside a pinch using her entire hand, which he seems to appreciate. Then she slides her fingers along his torso and gives each nipple a _real_ pinch - he shivers and gasps very nicely - but when she tries to do the same to his backside, despite his pleased moan the red mark that leaves bothers her at some deep level she can’t really articulate to herself.

So she goes back to swatting him a few more times, before shaking out her stinging hands and beckoning the hands back over with their burden. She rummages in the toy-box, humming to herself.

Finally Star lays three objects on the bed in a neat line next to Loki. A rather large butt-plug, the bottle of Notyr, and a length of rope. She smirks as Loki’s eyes widen.

“You’ve done an excellent job so far, my Loki. But I’ve decided you need to work just a little harder to please me. You promised in your letters that even muzzled, you’d be able to stoke my passions. Do so now, and if I enjoy your efforts sufficiently, you can experience the delights I have prepared for you.” Saying that, she sprawls herself along the mattress on Loki’s other side, grinning up at him. 

Loki tries to control his shiver, but it’s not easy. His mind is having a few second thoughts, but between his hips, something else is far too excited by the possibilities now presenting themselves. He shoots a look at the toys, and then bows his head a little and moves towards her, insinuating himself between her knees on his own knees.

He catches her gaze, and receiving her permission, brings his hands up, sliding them along the outside of her thighs. His pet’s skin is warm, and when his fingers reach the thin fabric strand at each hip, Loki slips his fingers under them. Then, moving slowly, he brings his fingertips down under each leg-hole of the panties, his touch barely skimming the warm crease between leg and body. When he reaches the edges of her fur, he stops, and lets his fingers coil in a few of the outermost curls, tugging them gently.

His pet squirms despite her control, and Loki notes that the flush of gooseflesh along her thighs. He’s definitely arousing her, and that thought makes him purr. He turns his fingertips up, pulling the material off of her skin, allowing the erotic and tantalizing glimpse of her body under it to show. _Yes, very pretty_ he thinks and for a moment regrets the muzzle which keeps him from pressing his nose there.

But instead he slides his fingertips down further until the narrowest part of the panties are pulled away, and Loki can feel how warm and damp they are.

Star sighs and shifts her thighs wider, giving him more access as she closes her eyes. She hisses a breath in through her teeth a moment later as Loki brushes his cheek against the inside of her leg, the metal of the muzzle cooler than before. 

She opens her eyes and gives him a narrow-eyed look, his own eyes glinting sinfully up at her. “Tease,” she proclaims. “Perhaps you don’t wish to play with the toys I’ve selected after all?” Star has to bite the inside of her cheek to hide a grin as Loki’s gaze is drawn back again to the line of playthings. 

He’s glanced over at them a few times, she’s noticed. How fascinating. She files that information away for future use, tapping her fingernails on the mattress as if she is growing impatient with him. “Well?” she prods him.

Loki rubs the backs of his knuckles down along the sensitive edges of her petal-like lips, a little giddy from the sweet scent rising to tempt him. When Star squirms he moves them up in the other direction, his touch light and deliberate.  


Then he shifts to let the balls of his thumbs do the same thing, but more quickly. It becomes a game; Loki changes stroke speed and pressure, never quite parting those lips but certainly feeling them become wetter under this touch. Every time his pet moans or writhes he feels his cock tense up. _A good game,_ he thinks. _Who’s the slave now?_

_ He’s an exquisite tease, _ she decides. Her fingers flex on the covers and her ankles dig into the mattress, but she won’t beg him. She’s supposed to be the one in control, and if he wants to make her wait, well, he’s only making _himself_ wait, too.

But he could probably do with a little enticement, so she spreads her legs wider still, exposing herself more fully. He can see _everything_ now, and it will be an interesting little experiment, to see just how long it takes before he can’t resist touching her in more sensitive areas.

Seeing her shift makes him smile behind the muzzle, and Loki shifts his thumbs, gently sliding them up along the widened cleft until they rest on either side of his pet’s little nub. He strokes in opposite directions, his touch light and quick, making her shiver. Loki does it again, and then slides two fingers into her, astounded at the heat he finds.

For a while he contents himself with pleasuring her thus; strokes and thrusts, never in a predictable pattern, gentle and firm, the wetness making his actions deliberately sensual.

Star bites her lip and squirms, shocks of pleasure ripping through her. It’s utterly maddening, which is of course precisely his scheme. She needs _more_ , but she won’t beg - she’s supposed to be the one in command!

She finally reaches down and grabs one of his hands, pulling until his fingers press firmly against her clit at last before releasing her grip. “Continue, ice prince,” she says, pinning him with her most imperious glare. “That is, of course, if you want me to pleasure _you_ ,” she adds, looking pointedly over at the line of toys again. 

She lies back again. He’s a clever boy, she’s sure he’ll take the hint.

Behind the muzzle Loki laughs, his chuckle deep, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He drums his fingers against the stiff little nub, circles the pads of his fingertips around it, very gently pinches it, and finally, finally settles into a firm rub using his entire hand, running it from fingertips to palm against his pet’s throbbing little button. She’s wet enough to make it a slick glide, and after about the sixth stroke, Loki feels her begin to shudder. It’s beautiful to see her arch up against his hand, her eyes closed, her fingers wrapped around his wrist.

It’s beautiful and frustrating and painfully arousing.

She throws her head back, spasms curling through her, and then slumps, trying to catch her breath. She raises her head after a few moments, and Loki’s gaze meets hers, his pupils so large his eyes look black, his hand twitching towards his shaft as if he is just barely holding on to his own control.

Star decides to take pity on him. Besides, he’s a god, right? She’s sure it won’t take long to excite him again.

“Very good, my princely pet,” she croons. “So good, in fact, that I’ve decided to give you a reward right now.” She peels off her panties and sits up, reaching for him, stroking her fingers lightly over the feverish head of his cock. A frisson goes through his body, but she doesn’t stop. Her fingers trail down to the base of his shaft and wrap around, and she tugs gently back towards herself.

“Come on,” she urges in a whisper. “Get up here. _Now_.”

His eyes are wide and almost grateful as he scrambles to obey, Star shifting closer to him and guiding him easily inside her, wrapping her legs around the backs of his thighs. 

Loki strokes deep, the sweet squeeze making him gasp. He leverages himself, palms flat on the mattress, hips rocking in a quick rhythm as his body surges forth, eager and strong. The sensations melt through him; hints of pain and heat from his ass as his muscles flex, and hot, demanding desire through his sullen prick. He keeps his body from touching Star’s, letting the only point of contact be the thrust and squeeze of their fucking.

He looks down, watching it, watching the way he drives into her, the way her body clenches around him, wet and hot. Primitive and beautiful in the daylight, overwhelmingly erotic. He tries to slow his strokes and draw it out, but it’s just on the other side of control now and Loki knows he’s going to come, hard.

He does, the feel of his pet’s legs around his ass, holding him tightly putting a little more of that sweet pain/pleasure through his orgasm, like a thread of wicked black velvet.

Loki collapses fully onto her for a moment, compressing her into the mattress so much that she can barely breathe, but Star doesn’t mind. He rolls off and to her side soon enough, his breaths still chuffing out through his nose, and Star leans to brush his sweat-damp hair from his forehead and cheeks.

She waits until his breathing slows and his body relaxes. “Can you cast your clean-up spell? Or do you need to speak for that?”

He shakes his head once, motioning elegantly, and in an instant all is clean and dry once more. Star stretches once like a cat, then slips her panties back on and rolls to her feet, though it’s a struggle to mask how shaky her legs are. 

Star feels Loki’s narrowed eyes on her as she returns to his toy-box. She’d had another wicked idea while he was teasing her, and she digs through the box, hoping to find what she needs- _Ah!_

She holds the items up on her index finger, twirling them lazily, and Loki’s expression can best be summed up as _disbelieving_.

“Time to bend yourself over the edge of the bed again, my sweet prince,” she purrs. For a moment, she’s sure he’ll balk, but then he moves to obey her, his long limbs seeming more ungainly than usual. Perhaps they both need rest, but she did make him a promise, and she does hate to break them.

He’s watching her more than a little warily as she retrieves several pillows from the head of the bed, sliding them under his chest to offer some support. “Hands behind your back, Loki,” she continues in a low silken tone. Again, he hesitates for a fraction of a second, but ultimately does as she says, offering up his wrists for the metal cuffs. Just as she predicted, his cock is already starting to stiffen again.

Star stands back a moment to admire him - his lean, pale body bent over the edge of the bed, the slight blush of colour still decorating his ass, cuffed and muzzled and waiting on her pleasure. She smirks and steps closer to reach for the bottle of Notyr-

The door to the bedroom flies open with a crash and splinters of wood are hurled into the room, followed by heavily armed soldiers. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star finds a way to save Loki, but as a consequence they end up on Asgard. Will Odin make sure that Loki and Star never see each other again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own Loki or any other Marvel character, though my New Year’s Resolution is to scrape together enough life savings to buy Loki. True fact! ;)
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> Banner made by **cincoflex**!

Star drops the jar with a gasp, instinctively moving to cover herself. Then she remembers she’s wearing lingerie, while Loki is basically naked. She yanks a fur from the bed and drapes it over his waist and backside, then turns back to the guards angrily.

They’re pointing some very long, very _sharp_ weapons at her and Loki, but something in her - a dwindling holdover from her domme mindset, perhaps - makes her bark: “How _dare_ you interrupt? Leave us this instant!”

For a moment the guards look uncertain, and Loki is fleetingly amused by that, but his immediate concern is for the cuffs and muzzle, both of which are impervious to magic. He turns his head and glares, managing a wordless spell that raises the door and flings it against them, knocking them back into the hall. Twisting, he shoots a look at his pet, hoping she has enough of her wits about him to free him before the Regent enters.

Star blinks. _Better let Loki free, idiot!_ But her heart is pounding and her fingers fumble with the lock of the cuffs. Before she can get them undone, there’s a twang and something cuts a burning path across her forearm. Star snatches her arm against herself with a gasp, clutching the palm of her other hand over the wound, staring wide-eyed at the arrow now sunk into the mattress.

She can’t help freezing like a deer in the headlights as another archer pushes into the room, an arrow aimed right at her.

“I told you not to harm the Lady Sigyn, fool!” the Regent’s angry voice fills the bedroom as he steps in and surveys the damage. His eyes narrow and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he takes in what Star is wearing. Something dangles from his right hand, a chain strung with a large black stone. Impossibly, it seems to be glowing, but emitting darkness instead of light, and Star’s head hurts just from looking at it.

Next to her, she’s aware of Loki trying to speak behind the muzzle, and motioning as much as he can with his bound hands, but nothing happens. She wants to let him free, but the archer’s bow never wavers, and the guards are getting to their feet, a few of them pointing their weapons at her again.

The Regent tears his gaze from her and looks to Loki, his glare a combination of interest, anger and envy. “So sorry to interrupt your bower games, but theft is a serious matter, particularly from _me_ , Loki.” 

Loki glares back, uncomfortably aware of his vulnerability, and hoping Star has the good sense to stay quiet. Privaldr isn’t a bright man but he _can_ be dangerous unless distracted.

The Regent laughs. “Oh dear, not able to answer my questions at the moment? Perhaps a different venue will help. How convenient that you’re not quite as fleet-footed as usual. Guards, take him far below.” To Star he gives a bow, his glance lingering on her. “Lady Sigyn, I will be back shortly to speak to you and offer my . . . comfort.”

They drag Loki away, and Star can’t read the expression in his eyes--fear? rage?--but whatever it is doesn’t make her feel better. Why can’t he do anything? He could cast magic before . . . Her eyes flick to the stone in the Regent’s hand again.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, the Regent preens. “A gift from a powerful ally,” he explains, raising the stone, and Star winces and turns her eyes away again. “It chains Loki’s magic most effectively.” His eyes sweep slowly down her body again, and Star grits her teeth, trying not to shake.

“Do not be afraid, Lady. I find myself in need of a new consort, and you are most pleasing to the eye.” He reaches to touch her cheek and it’s all Star can do to not flinch aside. “But sadly I have some other matters to attend to, first. I will return as I may.”

With that he sweeps out of the room, the guards following after. Two of them lift the door and prop it back into its frame, but not before Star sees the guards now standing at attention outside.

She’s trapped here, at the mercy of the Regent. And Loki is God knows where, apparently helpless.

“Oh shit, oh God, what l am I going to do?” she mutters, panicky and trembling. _Why the hell did I think that visiting Loki on enemy territory would be a good idea?_

But that thought reminds her of something. Maybe she has an out after all. She glances at the door and then scrambles to scoop her Earth clothes up from the chair. She races to the bathroom and locks the door behind her, pulling her jeans and shirt on quickly over the lingerie, also her socks and shoes.

At least she won’t look like she’s too eager to join forces with the Regent, if her plan fails.

The bathroom presents her with a soft cloth, and she winds it around the bleeding wound on her arm. It will do for now.

She digs her cold hand into her jeans pocket. _Please let it be there still, please let it-_

Her fingers touch the Snakkestein and close tightly on it. Thank the God of Mischief. She’d slipped it into her pocket at school this morning, after thinking to herself that seeing Loki in this situation might be more than a little dangerous, and that maybe having the stone on her might be a good idea.

She pulls it out now, hoping that the range of the Regent’s black gem is limited. And also that Loki wasn’t lying to her about the powers he ‘programmed’ into the Snakkestein.

Closing her eyes and concentrating as hard as she can, Star speaks aloud the name of the one she wants to summon. 

“Thor Odinson.”

*~*~*

 

Loki forces himself to relax. He doesn’t care about his nudity; he’s got nothing to be ashamed of certainly, and judging by the looks both the guards are giving him it’s clear that they are impressed by his attitude and . . . glamour. Privaldr is perturbed however, and his jealousy makes him shove Loki by the shoulder more than once as the procession heads to the dungeons.

Once there Privaldr pockets the stone and motions to the guards to let Loki go; he tosses his hair out of his eyes and turns, proud even with the muzzle on.

The Regent eyes it and smiles. “I knew you liked your mating in strange ways, Loki Laufeyson. A muzzle, eh? With your consort holding the whip hand I’ll wager. How perverted. How foolish. Now you’re without clothing or magic and I _will_ have back what is mine. If not, well then you can stay here in the dank bowels of my hospitality while I go comfort your consort. Let us be reasonable men. Give me back my map.”

 

*~*~*

 

“Oh,” Star says, a little stunned. _Wow, he’s . . . a big guy_. Loki’s magic had worked, and quickly. There had been a flash of green light, and now Thor is standing in front of her, his face and hair damp with water, barefoot, and naked except for leather pants with silver studs. _What’s with Asgardians and leather?_

He looks around, confused. “Where am I? What is the meaning of this?” He turns to her, studying her closely.

Star shakes her head to clear it. “I’m sorry. You’re on Niflheim. I’m also very sorry to have interrupted . . . whatever you were doing.”

He cocks his head at her, even more curious. “But you are not of Niflheim.”

Star can’t help a short laugh. “No, I’m human. And I’m-” she pauses, wondering what will get her into the least trouble. ‘Loki’s lover’? She has to decide quickly, finally settling on: “-Loki’s friend. He’s in trouble, and he needs your help.” She braces herself in case Thor gets angry. Things between him and Loki are not exactly amicable.

If anything, though, poor Thor looks even more confused. “Loki? He is dead.”  
Star blinks. “ _What?_ ”

 

*~*~*

One thing Ice Giants don’t particularly appreciate is fire, and Privaldr knows that. The combination of the Dark Stone and the heated pokers pressing hard against the jaw line of the silver muzzle are making matters extremely uncomfortable for Loki at the moment. He’d almost prefer direct applications--at least those would begin to heal the moment the instrument of torture left the skin. The muzzle however, holds the heat, and Loki feels his skin blistering under it.

“This can end the moment you give me back my map. I’m a reasonable man, for now. But I grow impatient, Loki, and if you will not hand it over, I may have to turn my questions to your beautiful companion. Interrogating her will be a . . . pleasure,” the Regent murmurs salaciously.

Loki shoots a look so full of venom that Privaldr steps back without realizing it, and one of the guards unsuccessfully hides a smirk. The Regent grabs a poker, snarling, “Perhaps you’d like to be as one-eyed as your father--”

 

*~*~*

 

Star gathers her thoughts and shakes her head. There’s no way Thor could know if Privaldr has killed Loki already or not -- he just got here, and as far as she knows, he doesn’t have any magical ability that would allow him to sense how Loki is doing -- so he must mean that Asgard believes Loki is dead.

_ OK, awkward _ . _Thanks for the warning, Loki._ “I’m sure he probably wants you to believe that, but no. He’s very much alive. Well, for now, but I have a bad feeling that if we don’t go save him from the Regent pretty soon, he _won’t_ be for much longer.”

Thor studies her for a long moment. “Is this some kind of trick? Loki knows I have named myself Protector of Midgard, so perhaps he thinks that to dangle a helpless human in front of me will serve as an effective trap.”

“For once, no. Or at least, I don’t _think_ so,” Star mutters. “If he was planning on attacking you, or planning on getting himself captured, I doubt he would arrange for it to happen while he was naked, chained and muzzled.” At Thor’s shocked look, Star adds: “Don’t ask. I’m pretty sure you _don’t_ want to know.”

“And why,” Thor asks, crossing his arms and looking imposing, “should I give aid to my wayward brother?”

Star crosses her own arms and stares back up at him. “Because he _is_ your brother. It certainly has a better chance of bringing the two of you closer, than if you don’t help.” Star scrabbles for another reason. “And trust me, if you help him now, you’ll be able to throw it in his face for _millennia_ to come.”

Thor finally cracks a tiny smile. “I do not doubt that you have the right of it, lady of Midgard.” He motions, and Star watches fascinated as his armour materializes from nowhere, covering his chest and arms, not to mention his boots. 

He swipes his hair out of his face and then holds out his hand, arm outstretched. They wait a moment, but nothing happens. “This may take a little time,” Thor says, sounding slightly apologetic. 

 

*~*~*

 

The poker comes dangerously close to Loki’s face but he holds himself still, not flinching, and that courage annoys the Regent, who steps closer. “Really Loki, you’d sacrifice an eye for my little map? Your consort won’t find you _nearly_ as handsome with a ragged smoking socket.”

Loki says nothing, striving to listen. There is some disturbance going on up above this room, some distant sound of mayhem that seems vaguely . . . familiar. He rolls his head from one shoulder to the other, a long strand of hair flipping across his brow, and flexes his hands, aware of the little gold ring around his pinky.

The poker moves closer, and Privaldr growls. “Hold his head.”

The guards bring their hands to Loki’s hair, gripping it, and he knows better than to struggle; one unexpected jerk and he’d end up impaled on the glowing end of the poker in the Regent’s grip.

Louder. This time the Regent looks up, frowning. “What in the name of the icy underworld is going on up there?”

The low rumble of thunder echoes, followed by the crash of a section of the brick ceiling as chunks of stone rain down. Prudently Loki takes a step backwards; one of the guards is not as quick and a heavy rock brains him. He topples over. The Regent looks around, and seeing his moment, Loki sweeps a leg against Privaldr’s, knocking the Regent down. The poker flies out of his hands to clatter on the floor, and moments later a heavy boot lands on it, the leather hissing underfoot.

Of course. Loki narrows his gaze as he takes in his brother standing there, arms at the ready, Mjölnir in hand. Clinging to Thor and looking slightly seasick is his pet, and _that_ is completely unacceptable as far as Loki is concerned. He growls, ever so slightly.

“Next time I’m taking the goddamned elevator,” Star mutters. Then she spots Loki. She utters a wordless cry and stumbles over the rubble littering the floor, tripping on it as she tries to both _get_ to him, and to look him over at the same time. He’s still naked and chained up, but he doesn’t seem _too_ injured. 

At first she breathes a sigh of relief at all that pale, unblemished skin, but as her fingers touch the muzzle she yanks them back again with a curse -- the metal is _hot_. “You _bastard_ ,” she snarls at Privaldr, unable to resist the urge to kick him.

But Loki is still chained and she can hear shouts and running feet in the hallway so Star turns her attention to undoing the wrist-locks (thankfully they are _not_ hot), and after endless seconds of fumbling thanks to too much adrenalin, she finally manages to get them open. 

Loki gets the muzzle off himself, and Star flinches at the sight of the blistered, scorched skin on his jaw. She glares down at Privaldr again. “Look,” she says flatly, “I know he stole from you, and that sucks, but _really_ , torture?” 

Behind them, the door to the room is thrown open with a resounding crash.  
Loki arches an eyebrow at Thor, who having taken him in from head to foot is grinning. The god of thunder turns to the guards rushing through the door with a cheerful rumble. “I am ever amazed by your ability to survive, brother.” A quick swing of his hammer and the first three guards rushing in fly backwards to fell the six coming up behind them.

“I have no intention of dying, particularly at the hands of fools,” Loki assures him, and manages to dress himself with magic, his frost dagger gleaming. Stooping, Loki brings the point of it under the Regent’s quivering chins. “Privaldr, _so_ sorry we can’t stay for more of your threats and blubbering. Oh, and if you ever look at my consort in a lustful fashion--by the Norn, if you ever again look at my consort at _all_ \--I will gut you like a boar in a pack of wolves and leave your entrails for you own dogs.”

At Loki’s words, Thor twists his head back towards them, raising an eyebrow. “ _Consort_?” he asks. “You told me you were merely Loki’s friend, Midgardian.”

“ _Friend_?” Loki echoes, looking up at Star with an eyebrow raise of his own. 

“Don’t look at me like that!” she snaps, feeling put on the defensive. “I had no idea what kind of reception I was going to ge- _Behind_ you, Thor!” 

The guards Thor knocked down earlier have regained their feet, and they look angry. At least until Mjölnir smashes into them with a musical clang against their armour.

An arrow speeds into the room, shooting over Thor’s shoulder and whizzing close to Star’s face, and she stifles a shriek and ducks behind Loki.

Loki rocks an arm forward and shoots a bolt of green energy past Thor’s hip; the blast is enough to take the last of the guards out. The others are hanging back now, waiting. Apparently the Regent isn’t worth dying for, in their estimation, and Loki feels that’s very wise of them. He slips his arm around Star and looks towards Thor, who is still standing ready to challenge anyone coming through the door. Privaldr is starting to crawl away, but Loki drops a booted foot on his fat ass, pinning him down.

“I _am_ permitted to choose a consort,” he reminds Thor. “Just as you have.”  
Thor doesn’t quite grin, but there is a twinkle in his eyes that isn’t precisely innocent. “A Midgardian as well.”

“That just proves you both have excellent taste,” Star points out dryly. _This is too surreal._ She’s on an alien planet with not one, but two Norse Gods. She wonders if they’ll write stories about this in Asgard someday. Perhaps “The Lay of the Muzzled Trickster” or “How Not to Train Your Jotunn.”

But the soldiers in the hall are starting to fidget, Privaldr seems on the verge of crying, and Star’s pretty sure she does not want to witness _that_. 

“Can we get OUT of here now, please and thank you?” she pleads, pressing tighter against Loki’s side.

Thor looks up, still smirking slightly. “Heimdall?”

_ Are we going to  _ Asgard _?_ Star wonders. She’s not sure whether she ought to be thrilled or terrified by the prospect.

Seconds later, Loki feels the familiar rush of energy that signifies the return to the Bifröst, and he keeps his grip around his pet tight since it can be an overwhelming experience. The sensation is bittersweet for him; once ages ago it delighted him to travel this way, but now it brings memories of those lost days and former innocence.

Still, when they arrive before Heimdall, Loki makes sure Star’s feet are down safely on the stone floor before casting a glance at his brother and then to Heimdall, wondering which of them will point out he should be in the dungeons. It will probably be Heimdall, Loki guesses; the guardian never did appreciate any of his tricks. 

Star presses a hand over her dazzled eyes, dizzied by their frantic rush through outer space. “That? Was _awesome_! Officially the best roller-coaster ever,” she says with enthusiasm. “Six Flags is weeping in envy- _Whoa_.” Star drops her hand from her eyes and goes silent, wide-eyed as she takes in the elaborate knot-work everywhere. 

Not to mention the insanely _huge_ building she can see in the distance through the windows. 

Someone clears their throat, and Star turns to see they aren’t alone. “Whoa,” she mutters again. Did she think Thor was huge? Well, this guy is _massive_. “They sure grow you guys big in Asgard.”

The adrenalin in her veins is lessening, but that only increases her awareness of other problems – like the fact her arm is _hurting_. She looks down and her sleeve is stained with blood, and when she glances over at Loki, he’s not in perfect health either, his jaw still raw and blistered.

It reminds Star that he’s not exactly welcome here, and as his consort, _she_ may not be either. The thought makes her throat go dry as her hand wraps around her wound.

“Even though I have been watching, I am still surprised,” Heimdall rumbles, and Loki can see under the Guardian’s placid expression a hint of amusement. Thor sighs.

“As am I. Still, the Midgardian is wounded and should be seen to. Have you  mounts, Heimdall?”

“Yes.”

Loki turns to his pet and picks her up, trying not to jostle her arm too much. “I should have killed that mewling whoreson when I had the chance,” he murmurs to her as he notes the wound.

Thor brings the horse around, and Loki lifts Star onto it, and then swings himself up behind her easily, keeping a secure grip around her waist. Thor swings up on a second horse and reaches for the bridle of Loki’s mount. “As you care for this little brave one, you will take her with me to the healer. After that we may deal with whatever else, Brother.”

Loki nods. “Of course,” he murmurs, “oh of course.”

“Brave?” Star has to snort. _I think_ stupid _might be the word you’re looking for_. Out of the frying pan and so on, but what other choice had there been? And she does NOT want to think about Heimdall  watching. _Pervert,_ she decides. 

Soon she’s occupied trying to look everywhere at once. Everything is HUGE, and golden, and filigreed. “The person who said everything is bigger in  Texas clearly has never seen Asgard,” she mutters to Loki. “Is someone compensating for something, I wonder?”

Loki says nothing, though his mouth turns up slightly. His entire body is tense, however.

When they arrive at the healers, it’s a matter of moments for one of them to fetch a glowing stone. They hold it over Star’s arm, and within seconds her arm is whole again. Too bad she can’t say the same for her shirt.

Thor is by the room’s only door, talking to a guard in low tones. When Star looks up at Loki, who’s been practically glued to her side since they dismounted the horse, his jaw is healed though none of the healers had approached him. She reaches to touch the smooth, pale skin. “I’m glad you’re OK,” she says quietly, for his ears alone. “Now level with me - exactly how much trouble are we in right now?” She flicks a nervous glance at Thor and the guard.

“That depends on how you define trouble,” Loki tells her, enjoying her touch. He adds, “You are in the position of being a guest, something my mother will use against the Allfather to our advantage. _I_ will probably be reprimanded for aggravating matters with Privaldr, but not too harshly since neither my mother nor the Allfather like that odious little toady. All I ask is that you say nothing of why I visited the Regent.”

Loki strokes her arm. “You are well? Healed?” He can’t hide the concern in his tone; seeing his pet bleeding has shaken him, reminded him of her mortal frailty. This fact shouldn’t be arousing him but it does. He desires her, wants to strip her down and check her for himself, to see that she is whole. He wants to fill her and hold her.

Odd, this sensation. Her very vulnerability is bringing forth such strong responses. Loki shifts uncertainly, hoping Thor will see the sense in taking them to a private room rather than insisting on an audience with Odin right away.

“I’m fine,” Star assures him, taking his hand and squeezing her cold fingers around his as she looks around nervously. “Asgard’s interior designer is _really_ into gold and knot-work, I see,” she remarks flippantly, though her mind is filled with images of Loki chained under snakes as poison drips onto him. She doesn’t know what exactly constitutes Asgardian justice, and she thinks she won’t be able to relax until she _does_ know.

“Just in case Odin’s really ticked off, do you happen to have an escape plan?” she whispers to Loki, though they are interrupted as Thor dismisses the guard and walks over. 

“I have arranged for you both to be brought to your old rooms to rest for a time, brother, but unfortunately you will not be able to avoid facing Father forever.”  
“Hardly a surprise,” Loki mutters, and louder adds, “Thank you, on _her_ behalf,” and glances at his pet.

Thor inclines his head, smiling. “My pleasure.”

They wait until he turns and leaves; Loki notes the guard stationing himself outside the door as it closes. He glances at Star. “I always have a plan. But for the moment, I am more concerned about you. Show me your arm.”

She looks a little impatient, but pushes up her sleeve and Loki bends to examine her skin, kissing it lightly. Warm, scented of her . . . he kisses his way up to the tender spot at the crook of her elbow, licking it lightly.

Star shudders and giggles, glancing shyly over at the healers at the other end of the room, then pushes him away gently. “Down, big boy. And people accuse _me_ of having a one-track mind!” She links her fingers through his to ease the disappointment written on his face. “If you want to play doctor, I’ve no objection, but maybe we should go to your rooms first?”

Loki nods, his face now bearing a smirk, and he tugs her after him as he goes to the door, opening it, and motioning for the guard to lead the way.

Loki’s room is _enormous_ , of course. Star looks around as Loki closes the door behind their guard. “Gee,” she comments with faux surprise, “More gold and knot-work. Colour me _shocked_.” And green, of course, but that goes without saying.

Loki merely smiles, a predatory glint in his eyes as he stalks towards her, moving around at the last minute and making her track him as he does so. ”I have had these apartments for a hundred years or so and they are actually a bit on the austere side compared to those occupied by most. Come here.”

It’s as low and sweet a tone as he can manage but it’s still a command, and it gives Loki a sensual thrill to see his pet obey even as she arches an eyebrow at him. He’s well-aware of all they have been through in the last three hours, and his body--unfulfilled and on edge-- responds to her obedience. When she is before him, looking up into his face, he bends quickly, kissing her, catching her lower lip in the nip of his teeth, laughing slightly. The nip becomes a kiss, and then Loki waves a hand, the gesture leaving little green sparkling trails as he does so.

The curtains close, the door locks, and Loki slides his cool hands down his pet’s back, letting them work their way into the waistband of her jeans and down to cup her ass. 

Star gasps against his mouth, then smiles and pushes back against his hands.   
She can’t so easily worm her hands into his armour, so she squeezes his backside through his clothes instead. She has unfinished business with that ass, but given his current mood, she supposes that will have to wait.

His hands slip lower, tracing cool lines along the crease at the top of her thighs, and Star shivers and nips at his lower lip. Then she has to laugh as a thought occurs: “Do you have a kink for getting it on while in enemy territory? Because I can’t fail to notice that here we are, on potentially unfriendly ground again, and yet you are keen to get into my pants. Literally.” She smirks up at him and slips one hand around and between them to curve her palm over the very obvious bulge underneath his tunic.

“And _you_ are not at all interested in my advances, not aroused in the least,” Loki flashes her a knowing smile. “Oh what a tyrant I am, to force you into this.” As he speaks, Loki concentrates and just like that her jeans are gone, along with anything else his pet was wearing below her little waist. She gasps but then laughs out loud, leering knowingly as Loki slides his hands lower, urging her legs apart, his long fingers sliding from the crease at the back of the thighs to the softer skin between them.

His pet’s fur tickles his fingertips, and he presses his mouth close to her ear. “Your words may say one thing, but your body is always truthful. So very wet you are, my sweet. So ready to be mounted.”

“I never said I wasn’t willing,” she counters, poking him in the chest. “I was just making an observation. Though I fully agree - you ARE a tyrant.” She grins and rubs the palm of her hand in slow circles over his erection, doing her best to ignore how his fingers are inching oh so slowly forward between her legs. His Adam’s apple bobs as he tries to ignore what _she_ is doing, though he is unable to hide his own shudder as her fingers start to toy with the lacing of his fly.

“Though if we want to play doctor - that is, if you want to _examine_ me - I should probably be naked,” she notes archly. She reaches up between their bodies and undoes the buttons on her shirt, holding his jade gaze the whole time. 

Star drops the shirt to the floor, then glances down at the red corset. “Oh shit,” she breathes, clapping a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “My underwear - the ones I was wearing before you brought me to Niflheim - they’re still there!” _As is the butt-plug, jar of Notyr, my collar, and Loki’s entire wardrobe and toybox. Holy. CRAP._

The mental image of Privaldr finding and examining her underwear makes her shiver with disgust. 

As if reading her mind, Loki shakes his head. “All of our personal effects are gone; I have spells in place that bring them with me whenever and wherever I go. I expect they will be catching up to us shortly, in fact.”

He watches her take that in, and in her momentary distraction, Loki cups her ass and picks her up, rubbing noses with her. “Keep the corset; I rather like it on you this way, with freedom above and below.”

Star’s not sure what he means, but she smirks and loops her arms around his neck as he carries her over to the massive bed. He sets her down on an emerald green velvet coverlet that’s as soft as kitten fur. She looks at the elaborate scrollwork on each post of the bed, and the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. “Austere,” she drawls. “Suuuuuuure. If you say so.”

“I do,” he purrs, leaning down to flick the tip of his tongue against her lips. She makes a noise embarrassingly similar to a squeal as his fingers busily pull down the cups of her bra to expose her fully. She supposes she now knows what he meant by ‘above and below’.

Loki sits back, looking her over in a way that makes her blush despite the familiarity between them. 

When he does nothing but _look_ for a long moment, Star wriggles impatiently and holds out her arm to him, the one the healers fixed. “Oh, _Doctor_ Loki,” she says as seriously as she can manage with a straight face, “my arm is sore. Please, can you help me?” 

He lets his fingers encircle her wrist, then straightens her arm, brushing his lips from fingertips down to the crook of her elbow and up to the sensitive area right in front of his pet’s armpit. Carefully Loki’s tongue swipes her skin, and he meanders down the slope of her chest, his face and warm breath against her flesh.

It’s but the work of a moment to nuzzle her nipple; to circle it with his tongue and breathe a cool breath on it, making it stiff. Better not to have the other one jealous, so Loki moves to that one and does the same thing, forcing his pet to lie back, her splutters and little squeaks delightful to hear as she complains about the chill and her hips wriggle without her realizing it. His hair brushes against her and impatiently he shifts it out of the way. “I believe in treating the whole body,” he tells her with mock-sincerity. “Yours has need of certain . . . treatments that we shall begin now.”

Star gasps, arching as Loki conjures a cube of ice from out of the air and traces the edge of it lightly along her collarbone. “So very responsive,” he whispers in her ear. “Shall we test if that is true elsewhere? It would be irresponsible of me not to be . . . _thorough_.”

His hot breath rushes against her ear, his teeth nipping at the lobe, and Star digs her nails into the velvet as he drips melting ice water over her breasts, rubbing it into her skin with the side of his hand.

She shivers, and yet there’s no denying there’s heat in this. It’s focusing right between her legs, in fact, though she’s pretty sure he’ll get down there eventually to ‘cool’ things off.

The high-pitched moan she utters as he applies the ice to one nipple, then the other, makes him grin -- she can feel it against her throat as she throws her head back, her whole body tingling. Half the time he has her fairly convinced he’s not a god, but a _devil_ , and bent on torturing her in the most wickedly sensual ways he can concoct.

For a moment, Loki wishes he was the one being tormented this way; their last encounter having been interrupted by Privaldr still lingers in his mind, and he has no doubt his pet would be particularly wicked. But he cannot deny that having his pet under him on his own bed in Asgard holds a certain thrill as well, particularly since she’s so very responsive. Being treated by the healers tends to leave the body particularly sensitive, and Loki intends to capitalize on that.

He shifts the cube in his hand to a dripping icicle and rolls it over the slope of one breast, enjoying the way his pet shudders. A warm breath dries her skin and then Loki repeats it on the other breast, chuckling softly. “So many fires within you; how fortunate you have me to quench them.”

Loki makes sure the tip of the icicle is blunted, and uses it to move to the underside of the corset and traces little runes down her body, making his way down to her hips. There is beautiful murder in her eyes, but a smile on her mouth as well; when he rolls the icicle from hip to hip she writhes. It’s also a sensual torture to draw it between her legs, letting the length of it juuuuuuust stroke along the cleft of her fur.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” she gasps at the cold caress. “Anybody ever tell you you’re _evil_?”  
He laughs, and it sounds diabolical. He moves to settle himself between her legs, pushing on her thigh to spread them wider, and for a moment Star debates resisting, but then decides it’s not worth it. 

The tip of the icicle touches the back of her knee and she jumps and bites down on a curse. Loki laughs again, his breath heating the skin just above where the icicle is tormenting her. He moves it in a slow dance up the inside of her thigh, forming more runes along her skin, and she shivers at the drops of icy water trailing down her flesh as he completes each little symbol.

“You’d better not be writing rude things on me,” she complains though she’s only half-serious. “If I find out those are the Asgardian runes for ‘Loki’s Slut’ or something like that, you are _so_ in the doghouse.” His head is sooooo close to where she wants him to be, that for a second she’s tempted to sit up and wrap her fingers in that conveniently-long hair and attempt to tug that clever, smirking mouth right against her curls. It might even be worth the retaliation he’ll probably visit upon her after.

Loki can feel the sweet tension in his pet’s thighs, and knows perfectly well what she wants. Why not reward her? He reasons. She did rescue him, even if it meant bringing his brother into it, but given the circumstances she had few alternatives. That is part of her charm; being able to _think_ and not just be a luscious little hellcat. Loki shifts and lets the icicle merge into his fingertips, and then brings his mouth deep within her curls for a sensual kiss even as his touch strokes the inside of her thighs.

She moans and rocks her hips up, caught between the heat and the chill, and even as his tongue circles her stiff little button Loki runs his fingers along the pink lips below it, the chill meeting her heat in sensual fusion. His pet tastes of warm feminine tartness and Loki teases her a while, enjoying his fill.

He didn’t answer her question - which probably means he _is_ writing rude things - but what he’s doing to her feels so good any aggravation dies a quick death. He’s looking up at her impishly as he drags her closer to climax . . . and then stops. And then begins again.

Cold fingers ease just a little forward, teasing just inside the entrance to her body, his hot tongue caressing her nub, and she couldn’t resist even if she wanted to, her hands clenching velvet handfuls as her body goes rigid against his hungry mouth.

Star feels him press a last kiss against her quivering flesh before he sits up. She observes through half-lidded eyes as he motions with his hand and his armour vanishes into nothing. But as he stretches out over her, she decides it’s his turn to be on the bottom.

She sits up, though her muscles try to rebel, pushing at his shoulder to try to get him to roll over onto his back.

Loki senses what she wants and he’s more than willing to oblige; it’s erotically charming to see her still dazed from her climax, trying to boss him around. He shifts, stretching himself out, giving her a heated smile, well-aware that his lips are glossy from hers. Carefully he reaches his arms over his head, giving the impression of surrender, his prick thick against his flat belly.

“Mounting the stallion?” he murmurs invitingly.

“In due time,” she answers, the corner of her mouth turning up. She kisses him, tasting herself on his mouth, then kisses her slow way down the middle of his throat, his chest, his stomach, until the head of his shaft is against her cheek.   


Star turns her head and takes him in, stroking her tongue in circles around the smooth knob, smiling inwardly when Loki’s hips shift and he hisses out a slow, trembling breath. His hand, still _cold_ , slips across her shoulder and traces down her spine, raising goose bumps and inducing a shiver from her, but she doesn’t allow him to distract her for long.

She moves her mouth up and down his length, listening as his breaths speed up, and then she stops. He frowns down at her and seems ready to complain, until she sits up and swings a leg across him. She guides him inside her, slowly lowering herself and closing her eyes the better to feel him filling her completely, and his hands, now much warmer, close firmly around her hips.

He’s looking up at her, watching and matching her every move, but something -- maybe it’s the way the light glances across the curve of his jaw -- reminds her that not so long ago, that skin was seared, peeling and blistered.

What if she hadn’t been there to summon Thor to rescue him? Worse, what if she’d been there but hadn’t brought the stone with her?

Her movements falter, and Loki looks up at her questioningly. She bites her lip, but decides to go all in. “Don’t. You. _Ever_.” she starts, rocking hard against him on each word. “Do that to me again.” She stops, her muscles gripping him tightly, and locks eyes with him.

“I realize I can’t stop you from putting yourself in danger -- much as I wish I could -- but do **not** put me in a position where I have to _watch_ you being captured and harmed. Or worse.” She shakes her head slightly though her eyes never leave his. “I’m happy to visit other planets with you, but not in a situation like that, ever again. Do I make myself clear, Loki?” Her fingers tighten on his shoulders, all but digging into his skin. 

_ Which is all fine, but . . . aren’t we in a potentially dangerous situation right  _ now _?_ She’s not sure she trusts Loki’s insistence that as a ‘guest’, she’s somehow protected.

He bites back a scowl, and keeps his touch light, saying nothing for the moment, letting his body enjoy the sensations and keeping himself from thinking about his pet’s stinging words. Loki has had enough pain for the moment, and even though he senses she means more under her orders it’s more than he chooses to deal with right now. 

“Shhhh,” he murmurs, and rocks into her, closing his eyes. There is heat and sweet pleasure building between them again, that perfect dance of push and pull that draws the breath out of him as she wriggles. His hands cup around her ass and Loki sends a flare of chill through them, making her gasp and swear even as she begins to speed up, her nipples hard.

She wants to retort but nothing is coming out of her mouth except pants and moans. _Bastard_ , she thinks, moving down hard to meet each of his upward thrusts, the storm building between them. Out of pure spite she tries not to come, not this time, but as if he senses her goal one of his hands slips around in front of her, massaging her clit. His fingers turn alternately hot and cold as they circle firmly around and around, and a squeal is torn from her lungs as waves of ice and fever pour over her. He never stops thrusting into her, driving her under until her body won’t respond any more.

Star blinks sweat out of her eyes and braces herself against his chest though her elbows and shoulders shake with the effort. “Don’t you _shush_ me, you b- bastard,” she snarls as best she can while attempting to catch her breath. “I don’t care how many times you make me orgasm; I will not be forced to bear witness while you are--” 

Loki growls, eyes narrowed, and in a blur of motion Star finds herself back on the bottom, pinned underneath him. He pins her wrists to the mattress and by force of will stops thrusting, lying on her, in her, thick, hot and throbbing. “Forced?” he rasps, the ache of desire so strong he can feel the pulse of it through every vein. “Forced? Never have I insisted or ordered or _forced_ you to come with me, and even now when I most need your comfort and care you choose to take your pleasure and then chastise me for actions beyond my control! I am sorry to have brought you into danger, very sorry, but you were not _blind_ to who I am or what my life is _like_ , Star. And . . .” he hesitates, fighting the welling misery deep within him, “. . . if you do not love me, simply _tell_ me so; don’t keep tormenting me if there is no hope in that direction.”

For a moment she quails -- the last time she goaded him, she wound up with his hands around her throat -- but she’s too stubborn to back down now. Besides, she doubts Thor or his parents will look kindly on Loki killing a defenseless human woman, especially on Asgardian soil.

“Love you? No, I couldn’t possibly be afraid for you, care about your welfare, because of _that_ ,” she retorts, her voice heavy with sarcasm. She glares up at him. “Don’t pretend to be stupider than you are.”

He gasps, his eyes wide and his hands now freezing as they tighten slightly around her wrists, but she’s not done. “And while we’re on the subject of love, if you love me, as you so often claim to, then you wouldn’t take such risks with your life.” She’s being manipulative, she knows, but as far as she’s concerned, if he loves her he SHOULD care enough not to risk himself for something as ridiculous as ‘ruling all Nine Realms’ -- _and good luck with_ that, _idiot!_

Besides, if this makes him think twice about putting himself in danger in the future, well . . . that’s of benefit to _both_ of them.

Then, perversely, she punctuates her tirade by _squeezing_ her muscles around him, milking him, and she can feel him twitching inside her, even as a confused welter of emotions moves itself across his face.

It kills him to do it, but Loki pulls free of her, biting back a moan as his prick slides through the slick grip of her cleft. He releases her wrists and lets himself drop to one side of his pet, his body still on edge, his emotions roiling in a storm within, closing his eyes and seeking some sort of equilibrium that isn’t so easily found. 

“Then we are at an impasse, my pet. Not even for you-- my delicious, beautiful, brilliant Star--will I change my destiny.” He rumbles. “To gain a throne, MY throne, will require risks, dangers, possibly even some degree of madness, and I would rather die in the glory of that quest than sit like some lap dog waiting for smiles and pats. I have lived this long; perhaps you should have faith in my skills of survival.”

Loki turns his head to look at Star, his mouth twisted in a pained smile. “Around you, perhaps I _am_ that stupid, but then again, perhaps you simply cannot say it because it will hurt you to do so.”

Star mutters a curse and pushes herself to a seated position, then clambers over him again, straddling his narrow waist. “ _Fuckin’-A_ we are at an impasse. There’s nothing  glorious about attacking a civilian population with an alien army, jackass. You think I didn’t notice what went down on _my own planet_?” 

Anger fills his eyes, but Star doesn’t care. She presses her fingers over his mouth to forestall whatever crap he’s about to dish out. “No. Shut the fuck _up_ , Loki.” His eyes widen again, like he can’t believe she’s _daring_ to say that to him. “You’ve got your self-worth all wrapped up in this crazy idea that if you somehow manage to cram your delectably tight ass into as many thrones as you can create, that somehow that will fix everything. Well, I think -- no, I _know_ \-- grinding everybody else in the universe under your heel isn’t going to fill all the empty places inside you. But hey, if you’re determined to learn that the hard way, so be it. We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that.”

For all the rage in his eyes, she can still feel him, hard and throbbing underneath her. On impulse, she shifts up just enough to guide him back inside her. 

He tries to speak again, but Star presses her hand a bit more firmly on his mouth. _God, what I wouldn’t give for that damned muzzle right about now._ “My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I’m pretty sure I just told you to shut up. I’m not done.” She shifts her hips up and down slightly, and he moans softly under her hand, even as his eyes glare daggers at her.

“So the appropriate answer would have been: ‘I’m sorry I put us both at risk, I’ll try not to do that again.’ Period. Not ‘this is who I am’ or ‘you must not love me’ or ‘I am burdened with glorious whatthefuckery’.” She rocks against him harder. She’s not going to come -- she’s too angry for that -- but that doesn’t matter. What matters is his eyes locked on hers, and his hands squeezing large white-knuckled handfuls of the covers, and the heat of him moving inside her.

“And I just _love_ ,” she says sarcastically, moving slightly slower for now, “this little defense of yours. ‘Oh Star, you don’t love me, woe is me’. The next time you’re on Ear- _Midgard,_ do yourself a favour and pop into the nearest library and look up Sigmund Freud. Specifically his defense mechanism of ‘projection’.”

Loki tries to shake his head but Star doesn’t release his mouth. Instead she leans forward, though still moving slowly forward and back on him. “Let me tell you what I’ve learned about love. Real love. It’s about taking _someone else_ into account. Putting someone else’s needs and desires at least on the same level as yours, if not  above them. It’s why I’m not going to abandon my family for you. Their feelings and well-being are too important to me. And it’s also why I don’t want to say I love _you_. Because we’re **not** equals; you don’t care what I want or think. I’m just your _pet_ , the one that you _play_ with when you feel the need. That’s it. I don’t get a vote. Is that what you call ‘love’? Not me. Like I said, projecting, much?”

She shakes her head and sits back, hand still over his mouth. “You’re such an ass,” she declares. He starts to speak again, but she presses down until he stops. “No, I don’t want to hear your crap. I’m done with that for now.” On impulse, she leans to his ear. “I’ll settle for your groans.” Inside her, he’s still hard. It’s an interesting tell.

Star sits back again, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to watch whatever visual hate he’s throwing at her now, rocking against him. It’s slow at first, his body stiff under hers, resisting, but soon enough he’s bucking up into her. She twists as much as she can while still keeping her hand on his face, reaching a hand behind herself to cup his balls. She strokes gently, and under her other hand his mouth has fallen open, breaths gasping against her palm.

He comes, hard, as much in pain as pleasure, and after the last spasms rock through him, Loki says nothing. There is nothing _to_ be said, not after her tirade. She does not love him, she does not forgive him, she does not understand the least of who he is or what he needs.

And clearly Loki has no idea of what _she_ needs. They are not equals, she has pointed out, and at this moment it’s blindingly clear that Star is right. He means little more to her than a means to an end. _Which of us truly **is** the pet?_ he thinks, and recalls their times together. Has he _never_ given her a choice? In all their encounters has he _never_ considered her needs and wants over his own?

Truly? 

That can’t be so, Loki thinks bitterly. His jaw aches and although his body has achieved release he feels nothing more than lassitude now. He waves a cleaning spell over the two of them and sits up, reaching for his clothing. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Star watching him, but he gives her a wry glance. “Thank you. You’ve given me much to think about. Stay here, warm and safe.”

Before she can speak, Loki closes his eyes and wills himself out of the room, out to one of the far towers unused and empty. He needs time to consider matters.

 

*~*~*

 

Hours pass. Star spends the first hour huddled under the bed sheets, miserably running recent events over and over in her mind. Why do her discussions with him lately always seem to completely derail? How can he treat her like she’s nothing more than a fuck buddy, yet act so hurt that she’s not head-over-heels in love with him in return? And, if he hadn’t wanted to be _challenged_ , why had he picked her, of all people? She’d been sassing him from the very start, even when he was just a disembodied, random message appearing on her computer; he apparently remembers it differently, but she knows better, and she has the proof in black and white, in Arial typeface back home!

At the start of the second hour, Loki’s wardrobe and other effects, including her misplaced underwear and her collar, pop into being in the middle of the bedroom -- _literally,_ they’re accompanied by a popping noise that nearly startles Star right out of her skin -- and so she hangs the red lingerie dejectedly away and dresses slowly in her Earth clothes. Then she wanders out to the balcony, observing the spectacular panoramic view with absolutely no enthusiasm.

That’s the second hour.

At the beginning of the third hour, she convinces herself that Loki’s not coming back. He’s probably already dumped her, maybe even left Asgard from some secret way. She decides to leave him some kind of note, and then find some way to get back home, preferably with a jump back in time to the same point she left Earth. Less difficult questions to answer.

She finds paper and a quill at Loki’s huge desk. Halfway through she starts trying to write some comment regarding the whole ‘love’ issue, scratches it out, decides that part is too legible still, and has to start again. By the end, she’s reasonably happy, under the circumstances.

_ Loki, _  
_ I forget sometimes that I have a terrible temper and that I need to learn better control over it. All I was really trying to say was that watching _ _you get dragged away and tortured terrified me. I don’t enjoy watching_ _things like that happen to you._  
_ As for this ‘destiny’ of yours . . . You can be more. You don’t need _ _or have to be the tyrant. You’re better than that. I hope someday you_ _allow yourself to realize that._  
_                                                                                    Your Star _

She nods, satisfied, and folds the paper carefully -- the previous version is balled up and shoved into her jeans pocket -- and then she places it in the middle of his bed, weighed down by an inkwell from the desk.

Straightening her shoulders, she marches over to the bedroom door. She’ll ask the guard to find Thor, or maybe try to find Thor herself. Heimdall can probably send her back to Earth, but she doesn’t know if he can bend time backwards. 

Too bad she has nothing whatsoever to barter with. She supposes she’ll have to rely, again, on Thor’s goodwill. She reaches for the doorknob-

A noise behind her -- someone clearing his throat -- makes her jump. She turns to see he’s back. 

Loki looks up at her, shifting the book he holds from hand to hand. “I disagree with this Freud,” he tells her. “Far too fixated on genitalia and his assumptions about fear do not apply to Jotunn. Jung seems far more applicable to the rest of us in the Nine Realms, particularly his dream analysis, which shows influence of our mythology.”

Star blinks. _So that’s what he was doing._ “I don’t agree with _everything_ Freud says - or Jung, for that matter - but they did have some valuable ideas.”

Making the book vanish, Loki steps forward and reaches out to cup Star’s upper arms and look down into her face. “I apologize for what you have been through in the last day, Pet. That indeed, should have been the first thing I should have said. I also thank you for calling Thor. Much as I malign my brother he is also a hero even when he cannot help it. Now that those are said, I also will say that my pain came not from _what_ you said, which is justified, but _when_ and _where_. I do not wish to argue or fight with you while we are making love. Ever. If we have issues between us, let us not bring them up in the one place where all between us is good. Either we resolve them before going to bed or after, but not during.”

He holds her gaze, hoping she agrees. It’s taken him a while to work up the courage for this, and Loki still fears she might consider that--what did the book call it? Deflection, but it’s not.

Star nods slowly. It’s a better reaction than she dared hope for, and she hates the part of herself that distrusts it; the other shoe is sure to drop sometime. Her eyes flicker past him to the note she’d left on the bed, but she decides to say nothing for now. There’s nothing inflammatory in it, she doesn’t think, but she’s had enough of fighting with him for one ‘visit’. He’ll either find it and read it, or he won’t. And if he does, he’ll either take it to heart, or he won’t. It’s out of her hands.

“Sure, that sounds fair,” she replies in answer to his question. “I’m sorry, too.” She pauses, searching for what to say next, but is interrupted by a quiet knock at the door behind them.

Loki looks pleased and moves to open it; behind the massive portal stands a gracious woman in pale green, her gaze serene.

“Mother,” he murmurs.

_ Oh crap!  _ Star thinks to herself. She’s so _not_ ready for this. Loki and Frigga both look so elegant and regal, and here she is in her worn jeans and sneakers, with a ragged tear stained reddish-brown with dried blood across the forearm of one sleeve.

But Frigga and Loki are both looking at her now. “Your Majesty,” Star says after a hesitation, curtseying as well as she can in jeans. _Oh yeah, that wasn’t awkward_ at all.

“Well-brought up, but not necessary,” Frigga smiles gently. “I take it you are the one who has captured my son’s . . . finer feelings?”

Star nearly chokes on her own spit. _Definitely awkward. Parents are the same everywhere too, it seems._ She settles for humour. “Your son is not easily ‘captured’, my Lady,” she laughs, pretending it’s a joke.

She doesn’t know how else to answer, especially given what happened between them earlier. Not so long ago, she might have tartly remarked “You’d better ask your son that, because I’m not so sure I have.” But no, not now.

“That he is not,” Frigga agrees, shooting Loki a stern but slightly indulgent look. A look that makes him blush.

“I assure you mother, all is well,” he replies. “I am fully healed.”

And he is, mostly. An ache or two remain, but more of his concern centers on his pet and how awkwardly she is watching him. To reassure her, Loki takes her hand, which is cold, in his.

Star glances down at their joined hands, but it doesn’t comfort her as much as it probably would have days ago. She looks up at Frigga, realizing Loki’s mother is still standing in the doorway, and that the guard is still there. “Won’t you come in?” she asks Frigga. “I think I’d prefer to have any gaffes I make witnessed by as few people as possible.”

Frigga nods a dismissal to the guard, who ducks away outside the door, and glides in herself, regal and still smiling. “I doubt you will make any; the guard is for your protection, not your incarceration by the way. So . . . where are you from?”

“Eart- I mean, Midgard. I guess that’s what you call it around these parts.” She tries smiling but it feels strange on her face. Too many emotional ups and downs lately. If she doesn’t get a migraine at some point today, she’ll be very surprised. _I’m getting grilled by a Norse god. In the home of the Norse Gods. This is . . . very fucked-up._

“Midgard,” Frigga nods. “It’s said to be home of the brightest, and honestly, neither of my sons can resist it--” she shoots a look at Loki, “Although some have treated it more poorly than others.”

“Mother--” Loki mutters, feeling a rush of blood to his face. This was NOT how the conversation was supposed to go.

_ Pretty sure he doesn’t actually want me for my  _ mind, her brain wants her to remark, but she bites her tongue hard until the urge to do so passes. “You are too kind, Lady.” She shoots a look at Loki too. “And I am a firm believer that people can change.” She lets her gaze linger on Loki a fraction longer than necessary before turning back to Frigga. “It’s kind of one of the basic assumptions of my job, actually.”

“Good, then you are in company here,” Frigga nods. “At the moment, your father is trying to decide if apologizing to Privaldr is worth it. I don’t think it is, and frankly he doesn’t either because the man is an odious toady, but politics being what they are, we may have to. I know you stole something from him, and it will have to be returned, Loki. Even if we do not apologize.”

Loki draws a breath. “Mother--”

“Don’t ‘Mother’ me. Give whatever it was back, and reconsider your decisions,” Frigga tells him, her tone gentle but her words firm.

Star’s eyes move between them as if she is watching a tennis match. Yes, definitely awkward. She wonders if she should back away, before magic starts flying around.

When the silence stretches out a touch too long, Star sighs inwardly. She doesn’t have much practice at family therapy, but here goes nothing--

“Would you excuse us a moment, Lady?” she asks.

Frigga nods and glides out into the hallway. Star waits until they are alone, then turns urgently to Loki. “OK, what exactly did you steal?”

Loki’s eyes narrow. “We have discussed this. Such matters are none of your affair-”

“ _Don’t_ start. D’you want my help, or do you want to be stubborn and risk letting Frigga or Odin decide your attitude would be improved by letting you cool off in a dungeon for, oh, let’s say the next decade or three?”

With ill grace, Loki slips the ring off his pinky finger, and with a wave of his other hand, it turns into a map.

Star nods, thinking fast. “Do you have some way to copy that, fast? Then you can give one to Frigga -- the _original_ , mind you -- and still have the info you need.” _Great, after all my ragging on him, now I’m aiding and abetting his stupid Master Plan for Universal Domination_. _Terrific._

Loki moves to the desk, grabs a sheet of vellum there and lays it over the map. Lines and labels bleed through until a perfect duplicate appears. He tucks the copy under other sheets and looks to Star approvingly. “Very clever, thank you.” he glances at the original and sighs. “It is said there is a spring somewhere here that cures melancholy and allows one to know the thoughts of animals.”

“Wonderful. I’m sure it’s just like  Disneyland ,” Star retorts dryly. “You can take me there at a future date. For now, your mother is waiting.” With a glance back at Loki for his nod of approval, Star goes to open the door for Frigga. 

“I think we’ve had a breakthrough,” she says in a low voice to the Queen, winking and motioning with her head in Loki’s direction.

“Here,” Loki murmurs, handing the map to his mother. “For all the good it does.”  
Frigga accepts it and slips it into some side pocket, her expression nearly the same smirk as his. “Taking things from others is wrong. Taking things from Privaldr is simply a waste of your talents.”

“Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose,” Star can’t resist remarking. She glances over at Loki.

He very nearly rolls his eyes. “I am bullied even now by the pair of you,” he chuffs, but the dimple in his cheek shows when he sighs. “All right then. What punishment will the Allfather give me? Some banishment again?”

“Banishment,” Frigga agrees, her smile wry, ‘for all the good it does.”

“Wait, _wh- what_?” Star stammers. But Frigga is already gliding to the door again.

“Your father and I await you in the throne room to pass sentence,” the Queen says, though there’s a twinkle in her eye that belies her words before she exits.

_ Banishment? _ Star’s first thought is that they’ll do to Loki what they did to Thor -- strip Loki of his powers and dump him somewhere. Which probably means she’ll never see him again.

As bad as that is, her second thought is even worse: If they think Star is actually Loki’s girlfriend or consort or whatever, would they decide to banish both of them together?

She’ll be trapped forever on a strange world with a god with no magic. A god who won’t be able to send her home to her family ever again. 

Sudden panic rides her hard. Star’s hands shake and she can feel that migraine she was expecting starting behind her skull. She grasps clumsily for Loki’s hand, his fingers warm around her icy ones.

“This is my fault,” she says heavily through the dread that wants to suffocate her. “If I hadn’t summoned Thor, we wouldn’t be here now, at the mercy of your . . . “She doesn’t even know how to end that sentence. Where would they send him - or _them_ \- to? Helheim? Jotunheim? _I have enough trouble with Earth winters!_ She clutches more tightly onto Loki’s hand.

“Mother,” Loki finishes. “She’s the _only_ one with mercy. And you did the right thing. Worry not; they _will_ send you back to your own life . . . probably without any memory of us,” he sighs sadly. “I’m sure Odin will consider that for the best, although Mother likes you.”

That will be the most difficult part, Loki knows. To lose what he has gained with his pet; all the pleasures, yes, but the simple bond as well--the affection, the teasing, the little joys too--that part is nearly unbearable. He raises her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. “I am loathe to go, but to keep the Allfather waiting is to risk further wrath. Be brave one last time, sweet Star, for me.”

He watches her, and offers his arm.

She grits her teeth, hard, but takes his arm. “They can _try_ to wipe my memory,” she hisses, “but I’ll give them an earful before they do.”

Loki’s mouth quirks but he looks sad. Star follows reluctantly as he walks them to the bedroom door one last time.

The guard precedes them down several hallways, which eventually open out into a massive room with so many columns that if Star wasn’t terrified and angry in equal measures she might’ve made some saucy quip about compensating for something. 

A few groups of people stand around the enormous room, talking in hushed tones. Most of them turn to stare as Loki and Star pass, and despite the storm of emotions she can’t help wondering if they are staring because of the way she’s dressed, or because they’re surprised to see Loki arm-in-arm with a human woman. Or _any_ woman, for that matter.

There’s another group standing in front of a dais, which is where they seem to be heading. She recognizes a few people milling about there - Frigga and Thor, but also several other men and one woman who she soon realizes are Sif and the so-called Warriors Three. She’s not sure if that’s a good sign or not. Probably not.

They reach the foot of the dais and the guard steps away. Star looks up, reluctantly, and above them is a massive throne of gold (with knot-work, of course). And on it the imposing, forbidding figure of a man with a staff and an eye-patch. _Yo ho ho and a bottle of whiskey,_ Star thinks sourly.

This is the being who is going to wipe her memories and separate Loki from her forever. Some traitorous part of her is almost glad about that. She can go back to her normal life, her family. She doesn’t have to do this compartmentalizing thing any longer, or worry that one day Loki _will_ kill her. Accidentally or purposefully.

But most of her just thinks this is all a really _really_ bad idea. How exactly is antagonizing Loki going to keep him from trying to rule the Nine Realms? Or prevent Ragnarök, assuming there’s any truth to those legends.

If anything, this is going to set Loki’s feet even more firmly on a bad path, she’s certain.

But she’s not going to show her fear before all these people, let alone the man who’s about to rummage around in her brain and delete part of her. So she locks her knees so they won’t shake quite as much, digs her nails into the thick leather of Loki’s sleeve, and sets her gaze as sternly as she can on Odin’s impassive face.

Loki is proud of her. He knows his pet is trepidatious, but here she is standing up to the Allfather in that proud way of hers. He notes that others are watching with various degrees of approval as well, and that makes him feel a bit better as well.  
_ I chose well, didn’t I? _ he longs to say to the assembled group. Instead he keeps to Star’s side and looks up where the Allfather is looking down on them, literally and figuratively. Loki’s aware he’s expected to say something, so he raises his chin and does.

“I take _all_ responsibility for matters with the Regent,” he says smoothly. “First and foremost. My consort here had nothing to do with any transgressions I have committed, either in the past or now.”

Odin seems skeptical but he says nothing, and Loki watches him, waiting to see if the older man can take the silence.

“Very well,” the Allfather murmurs, his one-eyed gaze sweeping from Star to Loki. “If you are solely to blame--and I am sure you are--then your consort will be absolved of any doubt in this matter. I have considered where to send you, and it seems to me that both you and your brother have become  . . . . _enamored_ with Midgard. Given that it is the realm most often in need of guidance, and that the beings there seem to be more than able to deal with your . . . temperament, I am sending you there.”

Loki freezes, caught between wariness and relief. Midgard would be amusing, at least for a while. Certainly there would be more than enough to catch his interest, and to have his pet so conveniently close at hand . . . . He very nearly misses the next part of Odin’s words.

“Your sorcery shall be limited and you will not be able to leave Midgard until the next festival of the moon.”

“The next festival of the moon?” This is from his pet, and Loki turns to her.  
Star isn’t sure how to feel about Loki’s ‘sentence’. While part of her is relieved that he won’t be imprisoned on the other side of the universe, having him on the same planet could pose problems. 

She’s having enough trouble keeping her two lives separate already. How much harder might that become, when she _knows_ that Loki is near? How much more temptation might his presence provoke?

On the other hand, as her grandmother had been fond of saying, it’s better than a kick in the teeth. _Or having my memory wiped._

Loki isn’t sure how he feels about this decree himself, if only for the limitation of his powers. It’s very probable that he will be stripped of any staff or magic focus, but there are ways of getting around that. It’s the tediousness of having to do things _without_ magic that annoys him. Still, he bets that his mother has pleaded his case and it would be better to accept this offer than protest and cause trouble, particularly since Star is at hand.

But Odin isn’t through yet.

“Midgard will be your confinement,” he rolls out, sounding pleased with himself, “But not within the limits of their brief lifespans. You will have the whole of their timeline to observe and learn the folly of hubris, Loki. Theirs is a world filled with prime examples of it.”

Oho. This is new. Loki considers this information and senses it could be to his benefit. All of Midgard’s history, his to toy with? How provocative. How filled with possibilities.

How unexpectedly generous. The Allfather truly doesn’t understand what he has just offered up. Loki manages a wry smile. “I accept your decision,” he murmurs, not adding any title to the man on the throne. He shoots a glance at Star, adding, “And for my consort?”

The glint in Loki’s eye worries Star immensely. Loki is having mischievous notions, she’d bet her degree on it. Which probably doesn’t bode well for Odin’s plan -- not that she really cares about that -- but no doubt it also doesn’t bode well for her fellow humans. And, by extension, probably _her_. 

And Odin’s words irritate her to no end. _‘Prime examples of hubris’? Um, look who’s talking! People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Odin._ She sets her teeth into her lower lip and bites down until the urge to actually _say_ that passes.

Well, she did tell Loki once that Odin sounded like a class-A dick, right? _And so he is. I hate being right sometimes_ , she thinks, trying to hide a grimace. 

“Given your capacity and inclination to disrupt the lives of others, I would think it best to send her back to her home,” Odin rumbles. “However she has shown herself to be loyal to you, which I find--”

“Undeserved?” Loki demands, dangerously sweet. “Amusing?”

“Commendable, in an odd sort of way,” Odin finishes. “Neither you nor Thor have ever been drawn to weak women.”

Loki shoots a sidelong glance to his mother, who is trying to look demure, but the corner of her mouth is curling up.

Odin continues. “I leave your personal matters to you; wicked you may be, Loki, but you are still a prince and due that courtesy.”

Star blinks. Did Odin just . . . compliment her? ‘ _Neither you nor Thor have ever been drawn to weak women.’ Huh. Fancy_ that.

_ He’s still a dick, though _ . At least in her humble opinion.

Over on the sidelines, both Frigga and Thor appear to be smirking ever so slightly. Star’s not sure if she should be worried or relieved by that. Even if they (and Loki) seem kind of pleased by how this is turning out, somehow she doubts Odin’s actually letting Loki off that easily; there’s a catch here that just hasn’t become evident yet, she’s certain.

“Very well, it is decided,” Odin announces and rises from his throne, still majestic despite his years. He nods to the guards. “Take them to Heimdall and inform him of the sentence; he will know what to do. Oh, and Loki--” Odin pauses and glares at him with his one good eye, “Never visit Privaldr again.”

Loki fights a smile, well-aware that showing one would annoy the Allfather. “I shall not.”

The guards form a phalanx around them and they move out of the hall; Frigga flanks him on one side, and Thor moves to Star’s other side in a show of honor and protection.

“Privaldr once tried to kiss me,” Frigga tells him under her breath. “Once.”

Loki shoots her a sidelong glance. “Oh dear.”

“Odin has never forgotten,” she murmurs with a hint of amusement. 

They march along the shimmering bridge towards the Bifröst. Which is about when Star realizes Loki’s never going to see the note she left him on the bed. _Oh well_ , she sighs. Knowing him, he’d not be open to anything more she has to say on the matter anyway.

“What’s this ‘next festival of the moon’ thing?” she asks Loki. “A year? A decade? A millennium? I’d like an idea how long I’m stuck entertaining you,” she says as she tries on a half-smile to show she’s not really serious. Much.

“It’s an idiom,” Loki tells her with a roll of his eyes. “Odin’s way of saying ‘until he is either in a forgiving mood, or Mother talks him out it’, which means it could be as short as a month or as long as a century. Given his mood I would count on at least a year.”

“Now Loki,” Frigga interjects. “This particular sentence is rather like being sent to your room with all your favorite toys, so don’t pretend to pout. And while you may not be able to leave Midgard, Thor shall have the capacity to act as messenger.”  
“If needed,” Thor adds, making enough of a face to make Loki snicker.

“You won’t be,” Loki assures him with a sneer. “I can handle Midgard.”

“Like last time?” Thor points out.

“Settle down, children,” Star can’t resist remarking, and from the corner of her eye she sees Frigga smiling over at her. 

But Star’s mirth is short-lived. She turns to Thor. “Are you going to tell SHIELD and the Avengers that Loki is on Earth?” she asks. “And also . . . about _me_?” she adds even more hesitantly. Maybe the latter wouldn’t be such a big deal if she was single, but if SHIELD digs into her background, they’ll quickly find out about her family and . . . the mental image of them dragging her husband in for questioning, or even just informing him of what she’s been doing behind his back, makes her face burn with shame. 

She wishes she’d never accepted Loki’s invitation to join him in Niflheim. None of this would have happened.

Thor looks to Loki. “That depends on you, brother. Do you intend to overthrow the realm?”

Loki pretends to consider it, and shakes his head. “The Allfather has given me all of Midgard’s history to roam; why should I bother with present day if there are other civilizations to study?”

Thor flashes a cheerful smile. “Then there is little need to worry the Midgardians of the present day. As for you, my lady,” Thor looks to Star and inclines his head slightly, “Your affection for my brother is a private matter, as far as I am concerned. You still possess the Snakkestein, yes?”

Loki sees his pet nod, and he takes her hand, surprised at its coolness.

Star uses her free hand to pull the stone from her pocket, showing it to Thor. “Good,” he says. “I will see to it that Heimdall does not alter its magic. Then, if ever you or Loki have need of me, you may summon me.”

“Thank you Thor,” Star answers, trying to smile, but it feels false on her face as she pockets the stone again. She can feel Loki’s eyes on her and his fingers squeeze hers briefly, but she can’t shake the sense of foreboding. 

They all seem so unconcerned about Loki ‘studying’ human history but . . . is she the only one who thinks he may well try to take advantage of that? She has visions of herself winking out of existence as he accidentally kills one of her ancestors for refusing to _kneel_ fast enough . . .

They reach the end of the bridge, and Loki hugs his mother and allows Thor to hug _him_ which is both annoying and faintly kind. They withdraw, tactfully allowing Loki a moment with his pet as Heimdall moves to his podium and stands ready to activate the bridge.

“So little time and so much to say,” Loki murmurs, cupping her face. “I can see your fears so clearly, Star mine, and I wish I could give you peace of mind.” He loves the softness of her skin, and lets his thumbs caress her cheekbones. “Fortunately my mother approves of you, and with her blessing we shall be able to meet again, should you wish it as much as I do.”

For one traitorous moment she almost wants to say she doesn’t. Her life would be so much easier that way. ‘ _Given your capacity and inclination to disrupt the lives of others’ . . ._ Odin’s words weigh heavily on her.

But can she abandon Loki? He’s not made things easy for her, but . . . can she really go back to the way things were before he contacted her?

She can feel the small raised scabs of the bite-mark – _her_ bite-mark – on his hand against her cheek. He _still_ hasn’t healed it yet. 

It suggests that maybe there _is_ something there. Some remnant of a conscience within him.

She makes her decision. “Yes,” she says, reaching to wrap her hands around his. “I do wish it.”

He kisses her deeply, heedless of their audience. Star is still trying to recover her breath from that kiss when Heimdall opens the portal and Loki is whisked away across the universe.

“Never fear. I am sure you will see Loki shortly,” Frigga assures her, stepping up to stand next to Star. A moment later Thor appears on Star’s other side, smirking.   
Looking down from his podium, Heimdall inclines his massive head. “Where should you wish to go, Lady?” he rumbles.

Star manages to remember to ask to Heimdall to not only put her back in her office, but also to the same point in time she left it before Loki’s summons. She’s not sure if time moves the same in all the Realms, but she’s not taking any chances.

The portal yanks her in, and light and darkness swirl and streak around her. She stumbles as her feet impact the ground, finding herself in her office again. It’s thankfully empty of all her officemates, and a glance at her watch confirms it’s still the morning of the day she left. She’s lost a minute or two of Earth time, that’s all.

She breathes a sigh of relief until she notices her sleeve is still ripped and bloodied. A minor problem, though. She rolls up both her sleeves and squares her shoulders as she starts to arrange her lecture notes. 

If only all her Loki-related problems were so easily resolved.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Star just can’t stay away from each other for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: We don’t own Loki. As if Mr. “Kneel Before Me!” would permit it!
> 
> The lovely banner was made by the lovely **cincoflex**! ;)

_ Oh God, no. _

Star is well-aware that her mouth is hanging open, but she can’t seem to get it to close.

_ What the fuck is he  _ doing _?_

It’s been over three weeks since Heimdall sent her home, and Star has felt rather proud of her ability to compartmentalize. She’s managed somehow not to spend every waking moment worrying about Loki -- Is he in trouble? Is he _making_ trouble? Will Odin change his mind and decide to impose a harsher sentence? Will Thor change his mind and report her to SHIELD? -- just _some_ moments. Although she must admit those moments have been on the rise as the time passed.

In all, she’s pretty relieved to see him, except . . . not here!

Not in the middle of one of her goddamned classes, in the midst of lecturing on the sexual anatomy of the human female.

_ Please, God, no. _

A few students are already done scribbling her last point in their notebooks, and she can feel their curious gazes on her as Loki smirks and glides into the room. He’s wearing his dark suit, though his cane-staff thing is nowhere in evidence. Leisurely he folds himself into an empty desk right in the front row, slumping into the seat with his legs sticking out half a mile in front of him. 

_ Don’t look at him. Don’t.  _ She doesn’t know what the students are seeing; Loki could look like any other student, or he could be invisible to them for all she knows. Either way, if the students observe her staring at either an empty desk or a seemingly fellow student. . . yeah, that’ll be all kinds of bad.

She shifts her gaze back to her lecture notes and turns back towards the screen, gritting her teeth. _Ignore him._ _Don’t give him the satisfaction._

She uses her clicker to advance the slide and in the most normal, neutral voice she can muster, she turns back to the students, looking up over everyone’s head towards the back wall so she won’t have to meet Loki’s knowing grin. She continues: “And this is the clitoris. One interesting fact about it is that it’s the only organ, in both the male _and_ female, which is solely devoted to  pleasure . . . Unlike the penis in the male, which has two roles. And these are?” She prompts them, waiting. They should know this; she covered male sexual anatomy last class.

Someone mumbles something about urination and ejaculation. Loki leans back, looking up at the image on the screen and doing his best to appear attentive but it’s all he can do not to laugh aloud. 

He’d intended to surprise his pet, to observe precisely what it is she _does_ all day and having this image projected up in front of an audience of young, embarrassed Midgardians strikes him as utterly hilarious. Loki senses that the majority of the students around him are only vaguely familiar with this part of the female body, poor fools. He himself had learned about the heated rose centuries ago, first through the scrolls of Freya, secreted away in the locked section of the library, and later with fumbling flirtations with various smitten maids of his youth.

Magic of a particular sweetness, Loki knew and missed at this particular moment. He feels himself stiffen a bit and cocks his head towards his pet, knowing full well she is striving hard not to acknowledge him slouching there, knees apart. If her profession is to instruct Migardian youth on their own anatomy, it’s no wonder she is so . . . forthright. And knowledgeable, Loki admits to himself. His pet is well-versed in pleasure, certainly, pleasure he’s missed in these long days.

It takes only a few moments for Star to get back into her teaching mindset; this wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to disrupt her lecture, even if it’s the first time a Norse god has done so. She continues with the parts of the clitoris, moves to other structures in the area, and then moves to a discussion of the internal reproductive organs. She mentions a few anatomical controversies, like the existence of the so-called ‘G-Spot’ in women, and then it’s finally time to end the class, much to her relief.

She shuts down the projector and organizes her notes, fielding questions from a small mob of students around her desk. “No, the test isn’t for another two weeks.” “No, if you missed a class, you need to ask your study-buddy for the notes.” “Yes, many women have irregular periods. That’s not unusual.”

Finally the room empties of everyone except her and Loki. Star leans her hip against her podium, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrow at him, followed by a smirk.

“So this is what you do,” Loki murmurs, rising up with the grace of a panther. “Instruct the youth on the delights of rutting. Your classroom needs fewer desks and more beds, I should think. Far better to take matters in hand rather than in discussion.” He smiles at her though, to let her know he’s teasing. She looks particularly pretty at the moment, and Loki drinks her in, feeling a familiar spike of erotic anticipation.

“It’s not the only thing I do,” she answers, moving to pack her things into her backpack. “I trained as a psychologist - studying mental disorders, that is - but psychology is also the study of human behaviour, which of course includes sexual behaviour. But not all profs are willing to teach the Sex classes, so those of us who are, have Sex a lot. So to speak.” She chuckles.

“I don’t do live demonstrations though, so don’t get any _ideas_ , you,” she jokes. He’s standing in front of her now, looming as he so often does, and her pulse starts to pick up just a bit. “No clothes ever come off in these classes. I’d get fired. Or worse!”

“Fired?” Loki looks at her uncertainly. He has an idea what she means--dismissed from her job--but sometimes Midgardian idioms are tricky. “Or worse?”

Perhaps his pet is referring to some sort of torture. He reaches out to lift her chin. “I will not permit it.”

“Don’t worry,” she reassures him. “I’ve got tenure. No need to subjugate the administrators.” She winks and cups her hand around his. She can _still_ feel the bite-mark. “Can I ask you something, Loki?”

“You may, always,” he tells her. “Some things I may not be willing to answer, but I know you are the same.”

“Why is this still here?” she asks softly, taking his hand and turning it over, tracing fingertips across the half-moon of bite-marks. “This should have healed by now.”

He draws in a breath, trying to think how best to answer her. “I kept it because I need it,” Loki murmurs. “Before we stood at Odin’s throne, I wore it in acknowledgement that when I am with you, I am . . . vulnerable. Afterwards, the Allfather muted my magic, which included healing. If I should concentrate for a few days on end I could force it to heal I suppose, but I prefer not to.” He pauses and adds softly, “I _like_ the pain. There is risk and respect in it. There is uncertainty, which for a god is a rare pleasure.”

She’s not sure she understands, but she nods anyway. If it keeps her safe from the darkest side of his temper, then that’s definitely acceptable. She leans into him and slips her hands under his suit jacket, sliding them up the planes of his chest and enjoying the feel of hard, warm flesh beneath smooth fabric. “So,” she asks lightly to change the subject, “What have you been up to lately?”

“Travel,” Loki tells her, savoring her touch. “Yours is a world of surprising variety, and I have spent time familiarizing myself with it. In some ways it seems to encompass many of the nine realms all in one. The chill of Niflheimr, the heat of Muspellsheimr, the dark underground realms of  [ Svartálfaheimr ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Svart%C3%A1lfaheimr) \--so much to explore.”

He is impressed; Midgard has more to it than Loki first realized and it only reinforces his belief that Odin is slipping. To have handed over this many resources and this much potential . . . Feeling mischievous, Loki slips his hands around Star, ostensibly to hug her, but in truth to slide his long palms around her ass. _Ever delectable_ , he thinks to himself and stiffens further.

Star giggles and rubs up against the obvious bulge in his pants. “The next class starts in fifteen minutes,” she says rather breathlessly. “Which means people are going to start showing up any second now.” She does some fast thinking. “Maybe we should get out of here? I know a great little place to eat around the corner. Have you ever tried a hot-dog before?”

Loki hesitates. He doesn’t want to be judgemental, at least not with his pet, but the idea of eating a hunting companion doesn’t quite strike his fancy. Something in his expression seems to reach her though, and she giggles. That makes him realize the term must also be one of those confusing Midgardian terms that doesn’t mean what it implies on first impression.

“No, I’ve never tried a hot-dog, although I remember chocolate quite fondly,” he hints, reinforcing this with another squeeze of her ass. She obligingly wriggles against him for a few seconds before pulling away.

_ He’s just too cute sometimes, especially with those dimples.  _ “There’s no ‘dog’ in them, I promise. At least, not that I know of,” she admits with a grin, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. “And no chocolate either,” she adds, “though there’s an ice-cream place somewhere around here too. If you want, we can get dessert there afterwards. You do seem _hungry_ ,” she teases, giving him a sly look.

She walks out of the room ahead of him, very aware of his eyes glued to her ass. A brief stop at her office to get her coat, and then they’re off, though she waits until they are well away from the school to link her fingers through his. She doesn’t know who might be watching.

All told, Loki manages to put away four ‘all-dressed’ hot-dogs, and enough fries to feed a small army. “Where the heck do you keep all that food?” Star marvels, stealing a fry from his almost-empty tray. “D’you have a hollow leg or something? Or is it magic?” She smirks at him.

He manages a quick smile before popping another fry into his mouth. “I haven’t eaten in a week or two,” Loki tells her. “In the rush of exploring Midgard it has slipped my thoughts.” At his pet’s alarmed look he adds, “I am fine; on occasion I simply forget such issues. And there were places where the local cuisine looked . . . dangerous. Better to share meals with _you_. I believe you said something about ice cream?”

“Somehow I doubt there’s any food -- or anything else -- on this rock that can harm _you_.” Star points out. “But yes, we’ll go get ice cream after this, I promise.” 

She hesitates, then reaches to touch the back of his hand. “I’m glad to hear you were just seeing the sights. I was starting to get a little, well, _worried_.”

He flashes her a look of surprise without realizing it, and lets his expression settle into a small smile. “Really? I thought you might feel otherwise after all the difficulties in the last time we were together. In fact, I wasn’t certain about coming into your class, but I find it impossible to stay away for very long. My own company is well and good, but even a god may get lonely after a while.”

Loki doesn’t tell her he loves her. Every time in the past that he’s done that it’s created difficulties, and considering he may be on Midgard for a while it would be better to be on easier footing with his pet. Instead, he lowers his voice and adds, “I have dreamt of you, little treasure. Intensely.”

Star agrees with him that they had fought a _lot_ during their last rendezvous. And in the end, had any of the things she’d said sunk in? 

She doesn’t know, but no matter how he feels about her, no matter how conflicted he might be . . . he does keep coming back for more.

She slips both her hands around his much larger one and leans in, lowering her voice as well. “Have you? Well, tell me yours, and I’ll tell you _mine_.” She can feel slow heat gathering in her cheeks, but there’s nobody close enough to overhear, so fuck it.

“Mine involve having you tied to a swing,” he tells her, his green eyes bright. “A very particular sort of swing, in fact. I’ll give you this--the Midgardians who throw themselves into rutting certainly do so with style! I found a shop with several of the most intriguing items in it--”

Star giggles and presses a hand against her flushed face. “I’ll _bet_ you did. A swing, huh? Hmm, I’ve never done that before. Do tell me more,” she invites, leaning in further. 

“You had your head back and were pleasuring me with your mouth,” Loki tells her, feeling a surge of desire at the memory. “I had my hands on the ropes so I could control your rocking movements and the sensations were amazing. So much so that I confess I climaxed  shortly after waking. The very sight of you bound in the swing, your hair trailing and brushing my thighs, the sight of your bound body open under me as you gave yourself over strictly for _my_ pleasure . . . it was primitive and beautiful and _very_ arousing. Had I control of the dream I might have doubled myself and had you forwards _and_ backwards . . .”

He trails off, amused at how pink his pet’s face is, how she is trying not to squirm in her seat. “Have I said something to . . . provoke you?”

“Yes,” she admits in a low purr. She’s soaking wet already. Part of her wants to just roll over, submit, do anything it will take to get him to do the things he’s telling her about . . . 

But ever the competitor, remembers she still owes him a ‘dream’. Which is not strictly true; she doesn’t often remember her dreams, and most of those are of the unpleasant variety. This would qualify more as a daydream, but that’s close enough.

“And you _enjoy_ provoking me, I know,” she continues, licking her lower lip, his eyes following the movement avidly. She squeezes her hands tighter around his and leans in closer, moving to wriggle a foot out of her boot as she does so. Risky, of course, because someone might notice, but no doubt her mischief-maker will approve.

“But you don’t need to provoke me . . .no, your queen remembers all she promised you. I have been dreaming about _that_. How I will have you strip that gorgeous body bare in front of me, how you will bend yourself over the bed at my word. And then how I will take that little jar of Notyr and massage every inch of that tight ass of yours.” Across the table, Loki’s eyes are unmistakably dilated, and Star can see the pulse at his neck speeding up.

“And once I’m done teasing that tight little opening, innnnnn goes the toy,” she says, and on the last word, she reaches out with her foot (it’s easy, he’s slouching with his legs open; he _always_ sits like a whore) and presses her sock-clad sole over the straining bulge in his trousers. His mouth judders open in a soft gasp and his hand tightens around hers.

“Yours is a good dream,” he murmurs in a quick breathless rush of words, “Yes an _extremely_ good dream. Definitely. I think we should do something about these dreams. Right away.”

It’s been a while, almost too long for him and simply being this close to his pet is making him a little light-headed, particularly when she does the things she is doing now. He shifts, dropping a hand under the table to catch her foot, to keep it pressed close to his throbbing cock.

“I agree completely,” she answers with a sly smirk. “I think the only remaining question is which of us will get to be in control first-”

She breaks off as she glances over at the door. “Oh shit,” she mutters, snatching her hands away from Loki’s. Her cheeks go pale as she twists her foot free of his grip and stuffs it rapidly back into her boot, explaining in a low urgent voice: “One of my officemates just walked in. Please God, let her not have seen us holding hands.” _Or worse_ , Star adds silently in her head, trying fruitlessly not to look like the cat that just swallowed the canary.

At Loki’s puzzled look, she elaborates in a quick, lowered tone: “She’s met my husband. She’ll know you’re not him.” _Why did I take him somewhere so close to work? I’m a complete_ idiot _!_ She covers the side of her face with her hand, as if that pathetic shield will somehow disguise her identity.

Loki takes a moment and lets himself shift expression, his face growing melancholy, his eyes slightly damp. It’s easy to let his voice become hesitant and slightly broken.

“I cannot thank you enough for listening to me,” he tells his pet, making sure to let his shoulders slump a bit. “Honestly cousin, losing Tony has utterly destroyed me. He was my love, my life, my everything. It’s been a constant nightmare trying to get used to being on my own. I _adored_ my partner . . .” Loki lets his head drop and gives a little hitch to his breathing.

It’s a masterful performance, he knows, and doesn’t dare risk looking at his pet just yet. She’s smart, and she’ll pick up on the clues he’s just given her. Certainly anyone else can see that he’s a wounded man seeking the comfort of a family member . . . right?

Star stares at him for a second. Then she catches on and puts on her most sympathetic expression as she lays her hand gently on top of his again. “It’s _his_ loss,” she says in her most reassuring tones. “He’ll never find anyone else who’ll put up with his quirks, believe me.”

She leans forward. “Trust me, Luke, you’re way better off without him. You _deserve_ better. And I have faith you’ll find someone better.” Loki looks up at her, his eyes moist and his expression now hopeful, and it’s a struggle not to laugh. Not because his performance is lacking, but because it’s  perfect, and somehow that’s the funniest thing of all.

But now her officemate Lila is coming over to say hello. Star manages to keep a straight face as she introduces her ‘cousin Luke’ and explains he’s going through a rough breakup with his partner, and that she was just about to take them both to the local ice cream shop for the mandatory ‘breakup pint’. 

Lila nods and says how sorry she is to hear it, and moments later Star and Loki are back on the street. She manages to wait until they turn onto a deserted side-street out of sight of the restaurant, before the giggles finally work their way out of her throat. She clings to Loki’s jacket and buries her face in his chest as she laughs. She calculates it’s about sixty-percent amusement and forty-percent hysteria.

“Wow, that was close,” she says, straightening up at last and wiping moisture from her eyes and cheeks. “Thanks for that. You definitely have earned yourself some ice cream.” She smiles up at him gratefully. “Among _other_ things,” she adds with a saucy wink.

“All of which I intend to collect, with interest,” Loki tells her. “Although I may need more than one session of counseling, and certainly more than one pint of ice cream.”

She snorts a giggle again and Loki offers her his arm, delighted to have made her laugh and pleased that they’ve managed an alibi of sorts. It’s unfortunate that ‘Tony’ was the first name to come to mind; Loki senses some teasing in the future about that. Still there is chocolate in the immediate future and a chance to make some dreams come true if his luck holds, thanks to the leeway he’s gotten for magic here on Midgard.

Loki can do more than he thought he could--moving through time on this planet is becoming easier with every attempt--and even teleporting works, although it takes a bit more concentration than usual. 

“OK, now where was this place again?” Star thinks out loud, glancing up and down the street. After a few false starts, during which she decides to ignore Loki’s amusement at her hopeless sense of direction, they manage to find the parlour.

They order without any incident -- she pulls out a twenty before Loki can conjure one of his handmade figurines this time -- and they soon settle onto stools by the front window. Two scoops of chocolate for him again, and one scoop each of chocolate and chocolate-mint-chip for her. 

One thing hasn’t changed though: his eyes still track the motions of her tongue with great interest as she enjoys her treat. _This again?_ She smirks at Loki as she licks her lips clean of ice cream.

“Having impure thoughts, are we, _Luke_?” she purrs at him.

“Are you going to finish that?” he asks, grinning. “And yes, I am. So are you for that matter, so the issue is--what are we going to do about them, dear, sweet cousin?”

“Keep your tongue to yourself, this ice cream is _mine_ ,” she mock-growls with her own grin. “As to the other matter, dear ‘cousin’-” her words break off as realization sets in. “ _Can_ we do something about them? I imagine Odin’s sentence doesn’t allow you to remove us from the Earth timeline and place us into your pocket Realm like we used to, and I have my next class in-” she checks her watch, “about three hours.” She looks back up at him anxiously.

“We can do a great deal in three hours,” Loki points out, one eyebrow arching, “although I have had to forfeit my little world for the moment. And I can still move in time, little treasure. All the practice I’ve had prior to this banishment has come in useful--we can spend our three hours in lustful activity and at the end of it I can reset us to this particular moment with ease.”

He lets his words sink in, aware that his pet is still a bit conflicted. It’s one thing to whisk away to his realm--a sort of neutral territory--and a different one to look around one’s own neighborhood. Loki wonders if she would prefer another era even as he glances back at the counter. 

It would have to be an era with chocolate, he thinks.

“You’re right, we could do a lot,” she agrees. “I just hate feeling like I have to keep one eye on the clock the whole time, you know? But if you can still do your time-bending trick and I won’t be missed, then that’s a relief!” 

“So now we just need a place to go. You don’t happen to know of one, do you?” she asks him. _If he’s been traveling, probably not._ She wonders if there’s any likely hotels or motels in the area; except for her school and a couple restaurants in the area, she actually doesn’t know this part of town all that well. 

“I do in fact know of one,” he tells her with a hint of smugness. “A little place, off the beaten path, with the amenities still. It’s temporary to my scheme of things but still enough to pamper us a bit?”

He’d just come from there in fact--Geneva, nineteen fifty-three. Lovely city.

Star narrows her eyes at him - _He has a ‘scheme’? It figures_ \- but keeps her peace as she finishes her last bite of cone. “Well,” she answers with a smile, brushing the crumbs from her hands. “Sounds promising. Shall we?” 

Loki rises and holds a hand out to her, his manner courtly. Outside on the sidewalk, he looks around and sees the entrance of another store, its entrance providing a slight alcove. Directing his pet there, he steps close enough to slip an arm around her and whisper.

“I’ve gotten better at sliding along the timelines and leylines of your world, but this will require concentration. Hold onto me tightly and don’t. let. go.”

Giving her a moment to do so, Loki savors the warmth for a few seconds and closes his eyes.

He feels the rush of time brushing his face like a snare of cobwebs, and the chill of moving too quickly for the sun’s heat to touch them. Before the cold becomes unbearable, Loki flexes his knees, readying to touch down.

They do, and he tightens his hold on his pet all the better to steady her as they pop into existence just behind a tall hedge of a park. By the light in the sky it’s early morning, and Loki can see the lovely carved doorway of the Hotel Geneva not more than thirty paces away from them. He looks to Star, checking to see if she is all right.

Star shivers -- she’s not sure what Loki had been doing, but it had been _chilly_ \-- and looks around. She steps away from him the better to take in their surroundings, though his hand slides down her arm and grips her hand gently.

The park around them is totally unfamiliar to her, and then she notices something strange: The few people around are dressed oddly, and the cars driving by in the distance seem very . . .retro. 

Nor is there a single cellphone or laptop to be seen among the few people scattered about the park. _OK, not in Kansas anymore,_ she thinks. She turns back to Loki. “I’ll bite - where the heck are we?”

“I believe the city is called Geneva, and we are about sixty-one years in the past,” he tells her. “I heard someone from even further back call it a safe place and thought I’d see for myself. The Midgardians here are very polite and very . . . discreet,” Loki adds. He points with his chin towards the hotel and slips a hand in his pocket, producing a sheaf of banknotes. “The same person was very careless with his wallet, unfortunately. Shall we?”

He gives Star a smile, watching her look about the city in fascination. 

“Sure,” she says, hooking her hand through his elbow. He steers them both towards a building with an impressively ornate doorway, though Star can’t help looking around at the rest of the view. She doesn’t think she’s seen so many ‘unplugged’ people since she was a teenager.

She also feels like she’s sticking out like a sore thumb in her jeans, but nobody seems to have noticed. Maybe Loki has one of his illusions over them, she muses as Loki leads her into the lobby of the hotel.

The foyer has a white marble floor and elegant black and white velvet furniture, slightly worn but still impressive. Loki steps up to the counter and a round little elderly woman in a black dress looks up at him, her expression shifting into a smile.   
“Monsieur Laufeyson, welcome back to the Hotel Geneva sir.”

“Mademoiselle Annette, thank you,” Loki tells her, flashing a smile her way. “A . . . suite, please?”

“But of course,” the woman bustles with the registry book, giving his pet a polite glance. “You and your companion shall have the Emerald Suite. The kitchen is still serving breakfast if you so desire, and I can send the boy around to bring you whatever newspapers you may want this time.” 

“Actually, we’ve just travelled a long way and I think rest is the order of the day,” Loki tells the concierge, taking the proffered pen and signing a string of rune-looking letters in the book. “Will you see we are not disturbed, please?” he slides a series of banknotes over along with the registry book and Mademoiselle Annette tucks them away before presenting him with a key with a metal tag engraved with the hotel’s name.

“Absolutely, Monsieur Laufeyson; consider it done. Rest well,” the concierge murmurs, a twinkle in her eyes. She waves to the elevator on the far side of the lobby, and Loki leads his pet towards it, unhooking the metal gate and pushing it open to usher her in.

The suite is predictably _green_ , though tastefully so. Actually, there’s less green than in Loki’s rooms in Asgard. _And no damned knot-work!_

The king-sized bed is the largest green thing in the room and the furniture carved with curlicues, and Star glimpses an old cast-iron claw-foot tub in the bathroom, though her attention is mostly taken up by the archaic technology. There’s a radio on a side-table probably thirty times the size of the one she has at home, and the room has an old picture-tube style TV.

“Oh my God,” she marvels to Loki, “I haven’t seen a TV with a UHF dial since I was a kid! We had an old black-and-white one I’d watch when I was sick, though I think I only got two or three local channels. Damned bunny-ears antennae.”

Loki doesn’t quite understand what she’s talking about, but her mood is upbeat, which will mean good things for him, so he peels off his coat and gloves, putting them away properly; he’s learned the hard way to take care of his possessions here on Midgard. “I am pleased that _you_ are pleased,” he tells his pet lightly. “This particular establishment is one of the better ones in this city.” He moves to draw the sheer drapes closed, making the lighting in the room slightly dimmer, and feels his pet come up behind him, her arms circling his waist.

“Claiming me?” he teases, savoring her hug.

“If you want me to,” she answers back, leaning her cheek against his back as her fingers twine with his longer ones. “If you wish to play ‘ice prince’ to my queen, we can do that. Or if you prefer to have fun with swings, we could do that instead,” she says agreeably. Which reminds her-

Star lets go of Loki and steps back, feeling his curious gaze on her as she reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out a thin gold chain that she’s been keeping on her person for the last couple weeks, since she didn’t know when Loki would come to see her.

It’s probably not even real gold, and it may not even fit him, but it’s always been a weird size for her -- too long to be a choker, too short for her to consider it a decent necklace -- so she’s never worn it much. It might therefore fit Loki, and if it goes missing, nobody is bound to notice.

She allows the chain to dangle from her fingers. “Should you decide to play at the first option, I have your _collar_ right here. If you please me enough to earn it, of course,” she adds with a smirk.

Loki meets her gaze, his own reflecting her impishness. “Hmmm, how tempting. Since my last piece of finery was taken from me, I _am_ intrigued.” He circles around her, keeping his gaze on his pet as he does so. “I have only . . .” he stops to calculate for a moment, “three more feats of magic I can do today; I am limited to that each day with no accumulation alas. Since one of them will be to return you to your place and time, that means only two more, so I put it to you, sweet queen, what do you require? Attire? Playthings? Myself multiplied?”

He sees her consider his words and waits, a tingle of impatient desire rising through him, because whatever his pet chooses, whatever she wants, Loki wants it too. Oh yes, yes, he does.

Star smirks at him. “I do believe I have unfinished business with you, ice prince. Therefore I require your wardrobe and your toybox. Can you conjure those for me?”   
He smirks back at her and makes a few elegant passes of his hands, and within moments the two pieces are standing in the middle of the room.

“Excellent,” Star says crisply. “Now, strip for me. Slowly.” She folds her arms across her chest and eyes him up and down, waiting.

Loki waits a moment, letting the mood slow and thicken before undoing his cuffs. It’s fascinating how focused his pet is on his every little gesture, and that attention is making his prick thicken all the quicker. A slow unbuttoning of his vest, followed by the the same of his shirt and Loki shrugs out of them, letting them fall to the carpet.   
Barechested now, he allows himself to run a palm over his chest and moves to undo his belt, keeping his gaze on Star and forcing himself not to smile at her hungry look. The click as he unbuckles seems loud in the suite, as does the sound of the zipper. 

When Loki steps out of his slacks, he toes off his shoes at the same time, and crouches to flick each sock off before rising again, naked and long, as much a prince in bare skin as in clothing. He shifts his weight to one hip, aware of his heavy cock at half-mast, of the silky heft of his balls against his inner thighs. “Does this please you?” comes his soft purr.

She regards him from under her eyelashes and licks her lips, but otherwise she doesn’t answer him right away. Star takes the time to move around him, slowly, grazing her fingertips over the taut curve of his ass, the ridged column of his spine, the plane of his hip as she circles back around in front of Loki.

“Very nice,” she informs him. “Now you may disrobe me.”

He smirks slowly as he moves to obey, his gaze on hers as he bends to take the hem of her dark red shirt in his hands. He pulls it up slowly over her torso and arms, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin as he does so. Star waits patiently as he shifts behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, though a moment later he’s back in front of her again, eyebrow raised. 

She smirks up at him. “Not in the back, no.” She makes no move to help him, though he figures it out quickly enough, locating and working loose the clasp between her breasts. “Clever prince,” she breathes as he does so, Star fighting to suppress a little shiver as the palms of his hands glide lightly over each nipple as he removes the bra. That was deliberate on his part, no doubt.

He smiles down at her as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of her jeans and pulls her closer, then he kneels to undo the button and zipper. She closes her eyes the better to enjoy the little butterfly brushes of his hands on her skin as he slowly pulls the jeans down, and she leans on his shoulder as she steps out of them. 

His nose grazes the front of her panties and Star has to fight another shudder, fingers digging into his shoulder, and it’s Loki’s turn to lick his lips as he pulls those down and off just as slowly as he did her jeans. Her socks disappear soon after, and now they’re both naked, Star pleased to see Loki is fully aroused now. 

“Very good, my prince. You did that so well, you deserve a reward.” She motions towards the wardrobe. “I will therefore allow _you_ the privilege of deciding what attire I will wear while I am . . . entertaining you.” she says with a salacious grin.

Loki brushes against her as he moves to the wardrobe, making sure the contact is light, and opens it, reaching without a moment’s hesitation for the rosewood hanger. He pulls it out and pivots, presenting an elegant merry widow of rich blue silk--the precise shade of an ice giant. It has stockings to go with it; sheer whispers of material edged at the top with black lace, and little wristlet gloves of black lace as well. Decadent, and altogether appropriate for this city, this century. 

He brings one stocking up to his lips and nibbles it.

Star tilts her head to the side, pretending to be debating the merits of his choice. “It will do,” she asserts. “And if you are so keen to devour something, perhaps you should demonstrate some _patience_ and wait until I am actually wearing those?” She shoots this last remark at him with a little wink as she turns and walks to his toybox. If she knows him at all, he’ll be studying her bare backside very intensely, and she smiles to herself as she flips the toybox cover open.

She quickly locates and gathers the items she needs, though she takes a moment to dig around to see what other interesting things might be hiding in the corners and bottom of Loki’s box of tricks. She spreads her legs apart just a bit as she bends over, and she can almost _feel_ Loki shifting position, as if he’s thinking about dropping all pretense and just leaping on her. She grins slyly as she goes back to the task at hand.    
_ Huh _ , she thinks, eyes widening at one particular toy. _Interesting._ Well, perhaps if he’s good enough - or _bad_ enough, rather - he’ll get to experience that one as well this session.

She slams the chest shut louder than she needs to and walks casually over to the bed, once again laying out her ‘tools’ in a neat line across the mattress. A length of rope, the gem-encrusted jar of Notyr, and the small, conical butt-plug. She’ll forgo the muzzle and handcuffs this time; she’s had enough drama. She’s not certain, but she thinks she sees a little shiver of anticipation curl through Loki’s frame at the sight of her playthings.

Star turns to face him, though she counts to five slowly in her head to let the anticipation build. “Well, what are you waiting for, ice prince?” she says with mock impatience when her count is finished. “Dress me.”

“Must I?” Loki counters; two can play at being a bit of a brat if it comes to that. “Very well my queen.” 

He lets himself be far clumsier than usual, getting in a good amount of touches as he helps her into the corset and does the hooks up the spine. On his knees Loki has a magnificent view as he helps to hook the stockings to the ribbon tabs, and when he trails his knuckles along the inside of his pet’s thigh he feels her fighting a shudder of pleasure.

As overtures go, this promises to be fun, and he fights a smile. Still, it won’t do to push _too_ far, and he moves back on his knees, shaking his hair out of his eyes and letting his tongue touch his lower lip lightly. 

The blue satin complements her beautifully, and the filtered light of the room gives an intimate, almost languorous feel to it all. Loki savors the anticipation, and feels his pulse thrum along the base of his prick. Pain, pleasure--it’s all good and he hungers for it more than he will ever admit to anyone. There are so many delicious options open now, and his only regret is not being able to do them all. Will she mock him? Slap him? Tease him? Pet him? 

Every alternative makes him breathe a little harder.

Oh, she nearly forgot- Star nods down at Loki and sashays to her discarded jeans, pulling the golden chain out of the pocket again. She goes to lay it down as part of the line of toys, and then turns to beckon to Loki. “To me, ice prince,” she orders, though she smiles.

He pauses just long enough to earn a raised eyebrow from her, but she says nothing, only continuing to smile knowingly. He can resist and wait, or he can obey and be pleasured, and she’s sure that much is obvious to him. 

She makes a show of studying the lace of her wristlets with great interest, and at last he lowers his chin and obeys, rising gracefully to his feet and moving to her side.    
“Bend over and place your hands on the bed,” is her next command, smirking as her eyes take in his lean, handsome form.

Loki tenses for only a second as her words flicker through his mind and his body senses what is to come. He moves with deliberation, finding the right place to stand, and lightly, obediently, sets his palms on the duvet, his fingers splayed to brace himself.

A surge of anticipation rolls over his skin, making him shudder ever so faintly. Loki knows how vulnerable he is right now. This submissive position has him feeling defensive and hungry all in one. He keeps his head up, looking over at Star and waiting to see what she will do next.

Star steps closer to Loki, making sure to rub up against him as she reaches to stroke the side of his face. His eyes flutter closed as she traces the line of cheek, jaw, and chin. As always, he’s so very warm to the touch, and for a moment she wonders what his _real_ form looks like. _Maybe another time._

Her caressing fingers move down his neck and shoulder, testing the texture of his skin, the quiver in his muscles. His breathing is becoming deeper and harsher, his eyes dark when they open to watch her hand slide down his forearm. Her touch next moves with calculated slowness, turning his hand over so she can trace along the bite-mark, circling each rough little scab, and Loki’s whole body shivers. She wonders if she should be cautious about pushing him; if this goes as she’s planned, she’ll be denying him his release for a short while. Will this mark protect her from him if he gets angry again? 

It makes her nervous, though she does her best to set that aside. He’s kept the mark for a reason, after all. Star hopes it will serve as a reminder, assuming he needs one.

She takes a steadying breath and cards her fingers through his long hair, stopping to admire the sheen of it, before running her hand softly down his back. “So very well-made you are, my pet,” she marvels out loud, very deliberately using his term for her. 

Loki is caught between preening and chuckling; it’s always entertaining to hear admiration for his body, particularly when served up in that low breathy tone of hers. He stays still, but another frisson of anticipation darts through him. He flexes his toes.   
Star smirks at his reaction, placing a hand on his inner thigh and urging him to spread his legs wider. As expected, there’s a token moment of opposition before he gives in, and once he’s positioned correctly Star presses against his side, leaning to his ear. “Good boy. And now, I believe it is time for _this_ -” she declares, her tongue laving his earlobe before she scoops up the Notyr jar . 

Dipping two fingers into the lotion, she allows it to melt a little in her hand. She can feel Loki trying to watch her again as she circles around to stand behind him. The muscles in his calves and backside clench a little in anticipation, and Star can’t help thinking that for someone who plays at being the Dom in so many aspects of his life, he certainly thoroughly enjoys relinquishing control.

She drizzles droplets of warmed Notyr slowly over the curves of his ass, noting how he quivers like a bowstring. She follows after the trails of Notyr, caressing and massaging it into his skin until it gleams, the faint spiced scent bringing back some pleasant memories of her own. 

_ I really hope I don’t botch this up.  _ She’s never done anything like this to a lover before. Well, that’s wrong -- once, with her husband, but that was years ago. Before things at home just became so . . . sedate. _Yeah, let’s not go there._

Loki’s breathing is loud in the room, as finally Star drips more Notyr into the crease between his ass-cheeks and rubs it softly in all over, fingertips ghosting across the little ridged circle there.

The sensations make him want to purr; Loki wills himself to stay still, but it’s getting more difficult--harder--all the time. His pet has a lovely sense of touch, and the degree of trust he has in her is allowing him to relax a bit. He wants to rock, to arch and wriggle a bit but Loki worries she’ll stop if he does so he flexes his fingers against the duvet and lets a little groan of pleasure roll from his throat.

This is good, and getting better; he closes his eyes and savors it.

The sound he makes both amuses her and reassures her that he’s enjoying himself. Star steps forward, pressing her leg in between his and allowing the silky stockings to rub against him, balls and prick. He groans again, his hands fisting the duvet. 

“Enjoying yourself, my princely pet?” she asks, though she doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she ups the ante. Her fingertips dance once more across the tight ring of his ass, then she trails those slickened fingers down and around his balls. He jerks and gasps, hands squeezing tighter fistfuls of bedding, and he strains to look back over his shoulder at her with eyes wide and mouth open. She smirks evilly back at him, her grin widening as her hand moves even lower, finding his cock and giving it a firm squeeze. His eyes squeeze shut, his breathing coming in heavy pants.

His hips shift, pushing back into her hand, so she strokes him a few times, enjoying how he twitches in her grip. Then she returns to the crease between his cheeks, applying just a little pressure to the opening. “I asked you a question, Loki,” she observes. “ _Answer_ me.” 

He blinks at her, seeming befuddled, so she frowns at him and smacks his right cheek hard, though it makes her palm sting. “Answer me now, princeling, or I’ll stop.”

The temptation to stay silent and see if she follows through on her threat flits rebelliously through his mind for a microsecond, but Loki draws a quick breath instead and speaks. “Oh I am, immensely,” he assures her, the heat of the slap burning nicely through his muscles. For a Midgardian she has more strength than he’d given her credit for, and that too is a pleasing thought. “My queen,” he adds, giving her his best doe-eyed look along with it. 

She seems pleased, and the imp within him can’t help but add, “More?”

“Most certainly,” she purrs as she reaches again for the Notyr. She scoops more lotion from the jar before taking up the plug, taking her time oiling it up, and against her hip she can feel Loki’s leg tensing up just slightly. He’s still watching, and she tosses him her most wicked look as she steps back behind him. “Hold yourself open for me, ice prince,” she orders. 

His sharp intake of breath is his only reaction for a heartbeat or two, before he spreads his stance wider and flexes his knees to keep his balance. His hands move to obey her, and is that a blush she’s seeing on his pale face? Star has to work to keep from chuckling. _The great and powerful - well, until recently - God of Mischief, laid low by a mortal and a small plastic toy. That could make for a fun crack-fic. Haha._

“Good boy,” she says approvingly again. She takes a moment to admire the view; although being Domme is not her first choice, it _is_ fun to have control over him, especially when every inch of him is just so delicious. She applies just a touch more Notyr to the glistening opening, then she begins to press the small, rounded tip of the plug into it. 

Loki draws a breath, willing himself to relax against the pressure. Luckily the Notyr helps, and the sudden stretch gives way to a spike of pleasure as the toy slides in. Receiving penetration is always a bit of a challenge but Loki knows that the benefits are worth the initial difficulty, and his pet is being very gentle. He finds it gratifying to see that she’s willing to work her will on him with as much delight as she does when their roles are reversed. 

He lets these thoughts go though, as she lightly twists the toy, and the press of it within him sets off another thrilling wave low through his stomach. Loki lets his head drop, his long hair a wavy curtain around his face as he kneads the duvet with his long fingers. “Yessssss,” comes his low hiss.

He’s obviously enjoying himself. Star smiles and gives the plug another careful twist, feeling him quiver once more, then she reaches for the length of rope. Loki tenses then, clearly wondering what she’s doing. She smirks as she steps behind him, saying nothing as she wraps the cord around his waist, tying a knot at his spine. She next feeds the two loose ends down through the crease of his buttocks, before putting a knot in the cords right at the level of the plug, pressing against its base. That should serve her purpose nicely. 

The cord’s ends are fed forward, Star placing each to run along the crease between thigh and torso, past his throbbing length, and finally looping the loose ends back through the ‘belt’ at his waist, knotting them there, though she makes an effort not to make them too tight.

She steps back to admire her handiwork for a moment. “Stand,” she orders him, smiling at how flushed his face is, how his cock twitches as the plug and the knot pressing on it stimulate him in many interesting ways.

Loki does, another jolt of pleasure making itself known, weakening his knees. The cord adds another layer to the moment and he hopes he doesn’t trip; a fall would definitely be uncomfortable. Still, it’s far more daring and ambitious than anything his pet has tried before, certainly. He risks letting his hands drop to his sides and keeps his gaze down, his elegant toes working against the carpet while he waits her next direction.

His cock throbs, jutting forth.

“Hmmm,” she pretends to muse. “You’re missing somethin- Ah!” She reaches for the little golden chain. “Every pet needs his collar,” she remarks as she motions for him to lean down. He does, though he quivers again as even that slight change of position makes the plug press against sensitive spots.

Star slips the necklace around his neck and does the clasp, then she steps away. She turns her back on Loki to climb up on the lush bed, before draping herself across it languidly. 

“Walk for me, Loki of Asgard.” she commands. “I wish to watch my gorgeous stallion go through his paces.” She settles herself back against the pillows.

Loki draws a breath and moves, his actions slow and graceful. Sensations roil through him and he savors them as he does, taking care not to overdo any particular stride. He knows his pet is enjoying his little parade, particularly as he turns the corner of the bed and lifts his chin, aware of his shaft bobbing a bit at eye level for her. Still, she has commanded and it’s easy to obey--for the moment. He risks a quick glance at her and lets his tongue touch his lower lip.

If she sees his flirtatious gesture she says nothing for the moment, but there is a look to her face that bodes more mischief, and Loki hopes he’s ready for it. The feel of the chain adds a little more impetus to the moment, and he prepares to turn, feeling impish himself.

“Very nice,” Star says approvingly. “Now come here.”

Loki climbs up slowly and carefully onto the bed, though Star can see the sensual effects the plug is having on him. She guides him until he’s bracing himself with his arms above her. Close enough to kiss, close enough for the hot length of his shaft to brush her thigh, but Star merely pans her gaze down the length of their bodies.

Possessed by impulse, she strokes her hand lightly down over the fabric-covered peak of her breast, and Loki’s gaze locks immediately on to the movement of her hand. Doing her best not to smirk, she lazily trails her index finger around her nipple through the cloth, her other hand moving lower until she can cup it around the damp, warm material covering her sex, though she allows her lace-covered wrist to graze his belly ever-so-lightly as she does so.

“You entertained me well, my Loki. So now I’ll entertain you,” she says with as straight a face as she can manage, fully aware that this is more a torment than diversion for him.

Loki manages a smile, eyes bright. He watches her slow self-caresses, caught between enjoying them and wanting to participate himself but he hasn’t been given permission to do so just yet. The lush scent of her skin makes Loki hungry, and he knows he’s leaking precum too, but he stays still, striving for perfection.

His pet is lovely; the blue accents her cream complexion, and the jewel shade of it against the green of the duvet is gorgeous. Loki feels his hips tighten, and his prick very faintly grazes her thigh, leaving a hot, wet streak there.

Star pretends not to notice what he just did; in fact, she closes her eyes as though she is ignoring him completely in favour of focusing on her own pleasure. She allows herself to pull down the bra cup, exposing her nipple -- may as well let him see _something_ \-- and she tugs and twists it, moaning in her throat perhaps a touch louder than she normally would.

Her other hand dips under the waistband of the sapphire panties. Loki wouldn’t be able to watch from his position regardless, though she makes sure to let her knuckles brush his belly through the fabric, so he’ll _know_ what evil she’s up to. 

Judging by how fast he’s breathing, he’s definitely enjoying her little display. A soft stroking of her fingers over her clit makes her shudder, and she wraps a lace-clad leg around Loki’s hip as she opens her eyes again and smiles lazily up at him.

“Tell me, ice prince, what would you do to me right now, if I gave you permission to touch me?”

The answer comes without any hesitation. “I would pin your wrists over your head and let my prick slide over your mound again and again,” Loki tells her, “and I would make you call me master until I was satisfied you _truly_ meant it..”

There is more of course, but this is the most immediate action he’d take, given his hunger and need at the moment. He doesn’t want to frighten her with descriptions of tying her ankles to the footposts, or raking his nails along the insides of her thighs _just_ yet. It is not his turn, and Loki is curious about what else she might have up her sleeve. Given what he’s already got up his ass, it could be both fun and trouble.

She has to struggle to silence a laugh. “I think you are forgetting who is Master here at the moment,” Star says with mild reproof, her hand now toying with the cord at his waist, before tugging on it just a little. 

He shudders as the plug is pushed a little deeper for a moment, but she releases the rope quickly and grabs a fistful of his hair, pulling Loki’s face down to hers. “And if you wish to entice me into allowing you to climax, you’re going to have to do better; I think you will find seduction will work faster than threats, my Loki.”

“You _asked_ ,” he points out in a purr, “and they weren’t threats my lovely queen; they were promises for the future. If this tryst is a matter of seducing you, then I must wait for _permission_ to touch or kiss or lick or nip the rather tantalizing banquet under me. I intend to behave but there are limits when these temptations are so enticing.” As Loki speaks he lets his hair tickle her chest, and pushes feather-strokes along her thigh with his damp cock.

“I did ask,” she agrees but with a _tsk_. “I asked what you would do when given that very permission, did I not? I do NOT recall asking about the future. But I suppose I must make allowances for the fact that most of your blood is no doubt rushing to your _smaller_ head at the moment.” She smirks up at him.

Idly, she reaches to run a finger along the cord, and even though she’s exerting no pressure, Loki shivers again. 

“Since your silver tongue is failing you, I suppose I’ll just have to find another use for it,” she ponders aloud, and then she uses her grip on his hair to gently tug his head until her bared nipple is brushing his lips. When he doesn’t move though, except to squeeze fistfuls of the green duvet, she nods approvingly. “Good boy. You may touch me.”

Loki circles his tongue around the perky point, then lightly suckles it, letting it slip from his mouth with a little popping sound. His pet wriggles a bit, her hips pressing against his, and the press of her hand between their bodies makes the ropes shift. He breathes in a quick groan and nips the edge of the corset, pulling it down so he has access to the other nipple.

After wetting each, he alters his breath from warm to cool, making his pet’s chest pebble with goosebumps, her nipples hard and beautiful. Loki appreciates the view a moment and then worries them a bit with his white teeth, enjoying Star’s little moans as he does so.

Cool breath again, this time on the undersides of her breasts, and he lets his tongue rasp against her skin. He aches now, his prick throbbing hard as his senses drink in the scents and sounds of his pet, and rebellion slips into his thoughts: _Take her; she wants it. End this foolish game!_

He laughs softly at himself and manages a nibble against her ribs, making his pet wriggle again. No rebellion this time; Loki is enjoying himself far too much to seriously consider it.

Working his way down, gauging her every shiver and squeak, Loki shifts, aware of the pleasure-pressure deep within him. He unties the strings of her panties at each hip, runs his chin over the sweet curls of her mound, and moving carefully, cups each side of it, squeezing lightly, making the cleft pout open like the ripe fruit that it is.   
“Oh my queen,” he purrs, looking up the length of her body and through his lashes at her, “Shall I kiss this glorious quim, _savoring_ its sweet, slick juice?”

“Yes, do,” she says encouragingly, proud that her voice isn’t cracking. He’s so very mercurial; one second she’s sure he’s going to yank control away from her and punish her for making him wait, but the next, he’s the perfect little sub. It’s very fitting for a God of Chaos, she supposes.

Long fingers hold her open as he presses a kiss against her, then a tongue slips hotly into her cleft. Star can’t help but wriggle, her toes curling and her fingers curling into the duvet for dear life as he delves into her. Soft strokes along the length of her, ending with a light little flick against her button, and then he repeats, though each time, he flicks just a _little_ more firmly.

She arches against his mouth just as he decides to settle in and suckle her _there_ , sending a spike of pleasure right through her entire frame. By the time she slumps, damp and relaxed, he’s sitting up again (he makes a soft noise as the plug shifts with his movements), running his palm over his mouth and gazing down at her with pride. He knows he’s done well, and she’s not inclined to disagree. 

It’s almost enough to make her forget her plan, but he’ll thank her in the long run. She hopes.

“Very nice, ice prince. You’ve pleased me very well. Come here.” She beckons him back over her, taking his thick reddened shaft in her hand and holding it lightly. He gasps, hips hunching forward into her grip, his eyes wide as she guides him to her entry.

“So I’m going to allow you to fuck me now,” she whispers directly into his ear. “But there’s one rule you  have to follow -- you can plunge into me as long and as hard as you want. . . but you can’t come until _I_ say you can.” Without waiting for his answer, she nips his lobe and he slides him deep into her, groaning herself at the feeling of being breached.

Loki bites back the growl that rises in his throat and the nearly overwhelming pleasure of his pet’s snug cleft slickly welcomes him. He arches into her, thrusting, and the shift of his hips makes the toy within him slide against that spot of sheer erotic torment; lightning flashes through his prick.

He thrusts harder, his strokes taking on a desperate rhythm and each driving stroke bounces him between the squeeze of his pet’s cunt and the diabolical jolt of the toy caressing him. Loki begins to pant, hair swinging in a curtain around his face, his teeth rubbing against Star’s throat in desperation. He cannot stop, he cannot fight the sullen surge of liquid lust building in his aching prick, and his balls tighten as he begins to reach that oh-so-dangerous point of glorious no return. Under him his pet lifts her hips up to meet each stroke, and her eyes glitter with sweet, raw lust.

“Not yet, ice prince,” she hisses, trying to maintain some kind of calm -- _stick to the plan, stick to the plan!_ \-- in the middle of the maelstrom of pleasure. Inspiration strikes and she reaches behind him, grabbing the rope and pulling it harder than before, pressing on the plug.

Just as she hoped, Loki utters his loudest noise yet, part broken gasp and part choked-off howl, and shoves into her hard enough to make the wooden frame of the bed creak alarmingly. He shudders like a man caught naked in a blizzard, muscles frozen into steel as he releases himself into her.

He slumps heavily onto her, and Star takes pity on him, allowing him (and herself!) to rest for a few minutes. But as he starts to stir, she modulates her voice into faux disappointment. “Your lack of self-control is truly displeasing.” Deliberately she grabs a fistful of his sweat-soaked hair and pulls until she can growl right into his ear: “You’ll pay for that, Loki of Jotunheim.” 

She shoves at his hip with her foot and he rolls off to her side like a ragdoll, and she manages to avoid his abortive attempt to keep her in bed with him. Hiding her grin, she flounces off to the bathroom for a couple of towels, plotting her next move.

Loki lies on the coverlet, little shudders running through him in the aftermath of one of the most glorious orgasms of his life. He lets his heartbeat slow, and drifts into the languid torpor that inevitably follows such intensity, feeling extremely quenched. He hopes his pet herself has reached _some_ sense of fulfillment as well since he has no particular strength at the moment, and probably will not until the toy within him is removed. 

It worries him too, that instead of lying close by and checking to see if he is all right that she has instead slipped away, leaving him used and spent, like a discard. Loki rolls to look and see where is pet is.

Star wets a washcloth and wipes herself down quickly - his clean-up spell, though useful, is hardly essential - before tucking herself back into her bra and scooping up a couple more towels as she returns to the bedroom. 

He’s watching as she emerges so she puts on a show, scowling at him. “You’ll pay dearly for your disobedience, little prince,” she snarls as she struts over to the toy-box again, laying the towels aside for now. Her panties are still somewhere in the tangle of the duvet, and she’s sure she’s giving Loki a very interesting eyeful as she spreads her stockinged legs slightly and leans over to peer into the box.

The mess of straps she pulls out to inspect yields a soft gasp from the bed, and Star turns, face still carefully fixed into a glower. Loki’s eyes are wide as he looks disbelievingly from her to the toy dangling from her grasp, and back again. In as calculated a way as she can cultivate, Star cups the small dildo attached to the harness, examining it closely. It’s a little wider and longer than the plug Loki is currently wearing, and given how much he seems to be enjoying the latter, she hopes he’ll enjoy this one just as well.

Of course, if he says no, she’ll stop. But will he balk? She doubts it. Even if his healing powers are not what they once were, he’s still a god. In addition, this toy has to be in here for a _reason_ , right? 

Star runs the ball of her thumb curiously over several rows of soft little nubs adorning the base of the toy. No doubt designed to stimulate the wearer . . .maybe it’s a toy he normally reserves for play when he is wearing his female form? Star shrugs. If so, he’s about to learn to appreciate the opposite side of it.

“Get over here and put this on me. NOW!” she orders, voice like a whiplash. Loki obeys but sluggishly, weaving a little as he gets off the bed and walks towards her. She feels a mix of amusement and pride though she manages to keep it off her face: _Little ol’ mortal me brought the God of Mischief low! Wonders never cease._

He moves slowly, trying not to tense up as he approaches his pet, and the drowsy repletion of a moment before drains away. Loki manages a small smile; he’s a master of deception for many reasons. Carefully he shifts behind Star and kneels, holds the harness open, trying not to look at it. Loki closes his eyes and focuses on the scent of her skin instead, on the sweet pleasure of the earlier part of the afternoon. 

Once his pet’s feet are within the loops, Loki brings the harness up her shins and thighs to settle it around her hips. He fumbles with the buckles and velcro, murmuring little apologies as he adjusts and tightens it. It’s pretty against her pale skin, and the sight of her pert little ass is definitely pleasing, but when his pet turns halfway and shows him her profile, he smiles a little too broadly and pushes away, pushes down the fear.

She wouldn’t understand it. She would point out that it’s no different than what he’s already accommodating at the moment and Loki tries to _believe_ it. He’s a god, after all, not a child any more, or a mewling virgin under an unstoppable mounting.

“Fine. Now go fetch the Notyr,” is her next order, and Loki moves carefully to obey, though it’s obvious the plug is still asserting itself. He brings it back to her, going almost automatically to his knees as she points wordlessly to the floor.

“Better, You are a fast learner, at least,” she remarks a little less caustically. “Now, take the Notyr and apply it to our new toy. And I suggest you be very . . . _liberal_ in your application.” She shifts slightly, testing the rub of the little bumps against her clit. _Hmmm, this has definite potential_.

Loki takes a large fingerful of the Notyr as she suggested, applying it all over the toy. His eyes are bent on his task, Star notices. No attempts to flirt or brush up against her, even though his actions are stimulating her anyway thanks to those little protrusions on the base of the toy, and Star has to bite back a tiny moan. Could he actually be nervous? Again, it’s surprising to her.

On the other hand, he’s already half-hard again.

He’s taking his time with the Notyr, so Star finally orders him to stop, and to go bend himself over the edge of the mattress again. Though he is much slower to obey this time, she turns a blind eye in deference to his unease. She picks up her towels and as she glances into the toybox in passing she decides to explore one more thing with him. 

A quick grab and she pulls his red and black flogger from the box too, strolling towards him as nonchalantly as she can with a fake cock bobbing in front of her and the soft tails of the whip brushing her leg with every step. 

Well, he keeps telling her he likes pain, right?

Loki slowly bends over, doing his best to relax. The damnable problem with fear is that anticipation is wound around it, and that latter sense is hardening his cock against his will. He squeezes his eyes shut and chides himself mentally for his foolishness, reminding himself he is both a jotunn and a prince and above old nightmares; _far_ and above such things as apprehension. His pet is clearly having fun baring her little claws at him, and pleasing her is the entire point of this afternoon anyway. Drawing a breath, he risks a peek at her through the locks of his hair, and the sight of the flogger sends a fresh frisson through him even as he avoids sight of the thick toy rising between her slender hips.

“M-my queen,” Loki manages, determined to see it through. “I am very sorry for my lack of obedience.”

Her eyebrow raises at that -- he’s obviously afraid, and she wonders why. _Didn’t he tell me he did this with Angr-whatshername and_ enjoyed _it?_ _So what gives?_ Maybe he thinks Star’s lack of experience will cause problems, or that she really wants to hurt him? She shakes her head slightly as she sets the Notyr down on the night-table. If he believes that, he hasn’t been paying attention. _Or maybe I’m that good an actress, to have fooled the legendary Lie-smith? Yeah, right._

Despite her earlier thought, she’s not into pain. Oh sure, a little spanking, a little flogging, a bit of strapping . . .anything that doesn’t cause black bruises or spills blood, she’s fine with that, both giving and receiving, but if he thinks she intends to use him roughly . . .well, he’ll see soon enough. 

“It’s a start,” she informs him as she lays the towel aside. “But to earn my complete forgiveness, you’ll have to be a good warrior and take your punishment,” she continues. Swinging the flogger in a circle, she allows the trailing tips to just brush over the curve of his rear, and he shivers again.

It starts off light, with a blow aimed at each side; his muscles clench and the soft moan he gives after each tells her he’s enjoying the fullness of the plug in this situation, despite any reservations he might have. She launches a few strikes at the backs of his thighs and calves, though these are intended more like a kind of massage, than to cause any true sting.

He _really_ moans when she allows the tips of the flogger to smack lightly against the knot covering the base of the plug, and she has to smirk. His length is standing at full attention again, why is she not surprised? 

She hits him again in the same sequence, a little harder this time, and then a final round, just slightly harder yet again. He’s sweating freely now, his face still covered by his hair, but judging by the noises he’s making, he’s liking this. 

Star steps next to him, winding her fingers into his damp hair as she lets the tails of the whip brush over his aching cock. “I do believe you are enjoying this, my Loki.” It’s his chance to call time-out or even put an end to things, if he wants.

He nods, not trusting his voice at the moment. Yes, it’s oh so good, deeply so on many levels, but despite what his prick is doing, the residual wariness of what may come next still has a grip on him. Loki rolls his jaw a little, feeling achy and a little bit dazed, but determined to see matters through. If his beloved pet desires to take him, then by the gods he _will_ submit himself to her; it’s the least he can do for the pleasure he’s already enjoyed with her over the last year.

“My queen,” Loki manages, his tone soft. “What more do you desire? How else may I pleasure you?”

“Nothing more,” she says truthfully. “You’re doing an excellent job.” She strokes his cheek, his hair, then tosses the flogger on the bed and moves back between his legs, trailing her hand softly along the ridges of his flexing spine as she goes.

“I’m going to take the plug out now,” she warns him. “Try to relax, OK?” Star’s breaking role, she supposes, but she doesn’t really care. At his slow nod, she begins to work on the knots she made earlier. After some work she tosses the cord aside, then reaches for a towel. 

Loki is making a visible effort to relax, and the plug is rounded so either way it shouldn’t be a problem, but she still tries to withdraw it as slowly as she can. Once it’s finally free, he sighs softly, and Star rolls the plug up in the towel and drops it on the floor out of the way. She gently massages his buttocks and upper thighs as she plots the final act.

“I take that back, you WILL need to do one thing for me -- you’ll need to crouch a little,” she admits with a smile, even though he probably can’t see it through the inky fall of his hair. “My legs aren’t as long as yours.” 

Loki slowly does, not exactly sure of what his beloved intends. Her tone is very gentle, and that helps unclench his sore muscles. The stinging along his thighs and ass has warmed to a lusciously heated throb and he savors it for a moment; his pet truly has a talent for applying just the right amount of bite to her strokes.

Cautiously he tosses his hair out of the way and looks for her as he bites his lower lip.

At the last minute, Star remembers to spread a towel out beneath Loki -- got to compensate for the lack of a clean-up spell! - and then she takes a last scoop of Notyr from the jar, applying it in gentle circles to the tender ring of muscle she’s about to breach again. Loki flinches slightly, tensing, but otherwise holds his position. Star wipes her fingers and then takes hold of Loki’s hips.

“I’m going to let you drive,” she tells him. “So I’m going to stay still, and you’re going to back into me. That will allow _you_ to control how deep, and how fast or slow. Whatever feels best to you.” It seems the safest and easiest way to make sure she doesn’t hurt him or push him too far. Carefully she lines them up, pulling him down just a fraction with a tug of her hands because he’s still too damned tall, and then she presses the tip of her artificial cock against the tiny opening, and waits, stroking her fingers along his hipbones.

Loki freezes, looking over his shoulder at his pet in surprise. Her reassuring smile helps a bit, and he manages to relax, fractionally, against the tip of the toy. “Really?” he asks, surprised and at the same time, inwardly grateful. It’s difficult to deal with the contradiction of pleasure and tension when it comes to being taken this way, and Loki doesn’t want to be difficult about it.

Toys are nice, as are plugs; he’s well-aware of what they do for him yes. But having someone, something actually take him is a different matter, an issue of trust and remembered pain. Still, his pet has been marvelous so far, particularly in that last orgasm.

Receiving her little nod, he takes a breath, and reaches back, waiting for her to put her hand in his.

Star blinks, surprised, then takes it, twining her fingers through his warmer ones. She’s still not sure what’s driving his current anxiety, but she’s willing to do anything to help. “Take your time,” she urges him, her free hand caressing his side.

For a moment Loki stays still, then he seems to take a deep breath, pushing slowly backwards. Her fingers tighten around his and she has to catch her breath; the pressure against the base of the toy is pushing those soft and wicked little nubs right against her clit. 

Though it’s difficult, she does her best to hold still. This is for him, after all, and she’s not about to break her word. He pauses, then presses back again, and they both gasp in unison as the toy finally bypasses the ring of muscle and slickly enters him.

He tightens his jaw, giving himself time to adjust to the fullness once more, and Loki feels his pet’s fingers tighten in his. That reassuring grip helps--more than he wants to admit--and after a minute, he pushes back. Loki’s aware of the design of the toy, of the little ticklish bumps on the other side that are now up against his pet. 

He smirks down at the duvet, and rolls his hips slowly in a light grind against her, and the low whimper coming from Star is like applause. After that to easier to rock forward and begin a little rhythm now, tiny inches back and forth, nothing fierce or hard. With each one, Loki adds a little twist of his hips, knowing full well that the tiny knob-lettes are teasing his pet’s most tender spot. 

The sensation of shifting fullness strokes that magic area within him, and Loki feels his prick rise even more, urgently. He reaches down between his thighs, skimming a palm along the underside and shivers with pleasure.

Another soft moan escapes her throat as he teases her, a tingling gathering right where the nubs are rubbing her. “Wicked little prince,” she purrs. Always this competition between them to please the other, not that she’s complaining. Though it makes it so much more difficult for her to stay still.

Loki’s soft moan follows on hers as he moves ever-so-slowly back and forth, though he’s having some trouble keeping his balance, his hand tugging on hers and making it still more difficult for Star to keep still. She braces her knees and reaches for the jar of Notyr nearby, scooping up a small amount.

“Allow me,” she says, brushing his hand away from his aching length and applying the Notyr to his heated shaft, slickening the way for her strokes.

With a gasp, he drops his hand back to the mattress to steady himself once more, his other hand squeezing hers a little uncomfortably as she slowly caresses him, trying to time her strokes in tandem with his rocking motions. Her breath catches in her throat as the little knobs catch at her again, pleasure spiking deep inside her, and her hand closes tighter around his rigid flesh.

Loki shifts, concentrating, working in the smallest of circles, caught between the touch of his pet--and _what_ a touch, so perfect!--and making the effort to push back enough to caress her as well. The comfort of her fingers helps even though little splinters of memory prickle him but his body is responding with or without his brain. Now it’s all a matter of timing, and given that he’s already enjoyed release, Loki knows he can delay until his pet has had her pleasure.

He stretches his chin forward, feeling the tight heat begin in his belly, savoring it and fighting it at the same time. This will be close . . .

Loki is doing this deliberately, she’s sure of it. This moving back against her, circling . . . The little nubs tickle and tease, and her toes curl into the thick carpet as she struggles to stay still, squeezing his fingers more tightly to anchor herself.

She wants to let it all go, but she doesn’t want to forget herself and hurt him, either. She pants through gritted teeth, the blood singing in her ears. Just a little more, she’s so very close now-

Inspiration leads her to release his cock, just long enough to wrap her hand around the base of the toy and rub the base a little harder and longer against herself. She tries to hold still otherwise, her fingers gripping his hand tightly. A climax, smaller than before but just as satisfying, rolls over her at last in a warm wave.

_ How do men  _ do _this?_ she asks herself a few moments later, blinking fast and trying to maintain her balance as her knees threaten to give out on her. “Are- are you OK? I didn’t hurt you when I-?” she reaches again to stroke him, gently tracing the veins on his shaft though her fingers are shaking.

It’s just the touch he needs, craves, and Loki arches himself against her fingers, feeling the honeyed pleasure of spilling himself out in slow, sweet thrusts. He shudders lightly, groans rising out of his throat, and when the last of it is done, it takes true concentration to not simply slide off of his pet and topple over.

Loki feels light; relaxed. He gives a last shake of his head and squeeze of Star’s hand before letting go and shifting his knees. He chuckles deeply. “Ohhhh yes, now that was incandescent!”

Star laughs. “So glad you enjoyed it, ice prince. I’m going to pull out now, OK?” At his nod, she withdraws slowly, eliciting a last shiver of pleasure from him as the toy slips free.

She wipes them down with the towels -- they can always shower later -- and strips off the harness and her lingerie. Loki catches her by the wrist and pulls her onto the bed with him once the last stocking is off, as if he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he takes his eyes off her.

He rolls half on top of Star, his weight compressing her lungs and his arms enclosing her. After a moment she works a hand free and strokes a fingertip across the golden chain he’s still wearing, then weaves her fingers into his damp hair. Responding to his mood, she murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Good,” he murmurs sleepily, “thank you.” The warmth and scent of her comfort Loki, and he nuzzles her shoulder, feeling that delicious post-coital lassitude coming on. Before he lets it overwhelm them both though, he adds, “You are amazing. I crave you like a drug; I find myself constantly amazed at your erotic strength, my jewel. You are indeed a worthy consort.”

She snorts a little at this, and Loki recognizes it as her way of dealing with compliments. He smiles against her skin and whispers, “In fact, I would reward you with a crown of chocolate if it was in my capacity to do so. Alas, we must settle for visiting a little shop I know of around the corner instead, but first, rest.” He keeps her close, and they doze.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Star shows her softer side, Loki his harder one. So to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: We’re just borrowing Loki. We’ll give him back later, though we apologize in advance if he’s somewhat…sticky.
> 
>  
> 
> Banner made by the lovely **cincoflex**!

“You _will_ do as I say because you would like to go on living,” Loki tells the man before him. The cowering individual looks terrified, as well he might. Loki tosses the katana from hand to hand, marveling in how well-balanced it is. Almost worthy of Asgard, if a bit long. Still, it appeals to him and suits the moment.

The Midgardian prostrates himself, his topknot bobbing. “Lord Loki-sama, yes, yes, it will be done! This unworthy one will see to it personally!”

“Oh good,” Loki murmurs. “I’m out of practice in beheading, but I’m more than ready to test this blade if needed. Go,” he tells the now whimpering man, “and do not return until you can report to me that the job is finished.”

The man crawls backwards, never raising his face. “Yes Lord Loki-sama. Thank you!”

When he reaches the doorway he rolls out of sight and Loki laughs. This particular part of Midgard definitely understands social hierarchy indeed and there is something very satisfying about having minions properly cowed. He re-sheathes the katana and looks to the mirror, admiring his green kimono anew. It’s a little odd, but allows him enough room to move, and the aesthetics suit him, particularly the embroidery of lean green and gold dragons slithering along the shoulders.   
____________________

Star groans inwardly, sitting back in her creaky office chair and rubbing her hand over her forehead.

_ I  _ hate _ this part of my job _ . _Grading student papers is the bane of my existence._

She sighs and picks up her purple pen again, leaning forward to squint at the latest badly-constructed sentence. No matter how many times she tells them that Word does not catch all spelling errors, or that they need to proofread . . . 

“Pedophilia is _quiet_ possibly . . .” she reads out loud to the empty office. “‘Quiet’, riiiiiight. I think ‘quite’ is the word you were looking for.” She shakes her head and underlines the offending mistake.

It really annoys her how so few of them make any kind of effort. Heck, one of her papers yesterday even had a stain on it - the round coffee-scented ring from a mug - and the edges of the pages had been crumpled and torn. _No pride in their work. It’s really sad._

_ Why did I take this job again? Somebody save me from this hell,  _ she prays, dropping her pen and sitting back in her chair once more.   
____________________   
Loki gives the geisha a shake of his head and she withdraws with silent grace, her slippers making no sound on the hardwood floor, leaving him to contemplate the depths of the tea alone. It’s hot and good, if a little plain. He looks around the room and sighs. “Now this pleases me,” he murmurs. “My own domain, won fairly in battle. I am feared, revered and . . .” He cannot quite bring himself to admit it, lonely.

True there are plenty of Midgardians doing his bidding and following his commands, but since his victory over Masatuko Yamahana, Loki has found few challengers. Few compatriots. He won’t admit that he misses the easy company of Asgard, annoying as they can be. Here in this serene and rugged land he has the respect of his subjects, but he misses simple conversation. There is a cost to being a warlord, apparently.

“Oh pet, how you would laugh,” he muses, and thoughts of her cheer him. He makes up his mind and rises, clapping his hands once. Instantly the little maid of before scurries to the doorway, bowing before looking towards him, her expression slightly fearful. “Sir?”

“My consort Lady Sigyn will be arriving shortly,” Loki tells her. “Please make arrangements for proper clothing since she will be arriving in disguise.”

The little maid looks fearful. “Yes Lord Loki-sama. It will be done.”

He waits until she hurries off like the frightened rabbit she is, and then Loki concentrates his magic, feeling both impish and pleased; it will be good to show his pet his new home.   
____________________

_ How Loki would laugh if he knew I was praying _ , Star thinks, smirking. If only she _could_ summon him. She sighs and leans back over her desk again. 

While she feels that things with Loki have become better, they’re also that much more complicated. He’s obviously smitten with her, especially after their last encounter barely a week and a half ago, but . . . she doesn’t know how to feel in return. If she was single, maybe this wouldn’t be such an issue, but how can she love him when half her heart has to belong to her husband and child?

Not to mention that whole universe-domination kink of his . . . Star groans out loud, shaking her head. _Why do I always choose the difficult path?_

She tries to read the student’s assignment again, but something distracts her. At first she’s not sure what’s going on, then there’s a vaguely familiar tickle at the base of her spine, and her vision goes bright white.

_ Loki’s magic. _ Maybe he’d heard her after all?

Star blinks until her vision clears, taking in the new room she finds herself in. Everything is made of carven wood and the room bright and airy with a definite Asian vibe. She looks around, rummaging in her memory for the name of the screens circling the room - shoji, she thinks. OK, not what she was expecting; Loki’s good at that.

One of the screens slides open and an Asian woman glides into the room. “Lady Sigyn-sama,” she greets Star, bowing deeply. 

_ I guess that’s supposed to be me. _ “Yes. Um, hi?” She bows back, mirroring the woman, though she remembers at the last minute that she probably shouldn’t bow as low, not if she’s supposed to be of rank. Which, knowing Loki, ‘Lady’ Sigyn is.

The other woman walks gracefully in, her eyes lowered. “Lord Loki-sama requested garments for you.” She holds out a stunning red kimono with a pretty floral pattern on it in shades of blue and green. “This one hopes this meets with your approval.”

“Yes,” Star agrees. “Thank you.”

“Lord Loki-sama awaits your presence, Lady,” the other woman adds, bowing again, and Star tries not to snicker. _‘Loki-sama’?_

_ What the hell has he done now? _

She shakes her head, trying to hide her exasperation as she examines the different pieces of the kimono. “I’ll probably need some help putting this on.”

“Of course, Lady,” the woman replies, clapping her hands to summon more assistance.

_ I am so out of my element here, as usual. You’d think I’d be used to this by now, _ Star sighs to herself. At least her visits with Loki are never boring!   
____________________

The wonderful thing about magic on Midgard, Loki thinks, is how effective it is. It’s as if primitive, superstitious belief gives it more power, and the proof stands before him as two maids usher his pet in, looking awed. There will be gossip in the castle later, Loki knows, stories about how his consort appeared out of thin air, summoned by his sorcery.

Star, he notes, looks sweetly annoyed to him. He crosses the room to greet her, dismissing the maids with a wave of one hand. Once they are beyond the screen door, he smirks, taking in how well the kimono fits, and how rich the color is. “You look a vision,” he tells her, wisely not choosing to specify what the vision might be of, and lifts her hand to kiss it.

He looks way too smug and amused at her expense, and it takes a second for Star to remind herself that she doesn’t want to argue with him. Things went well last time, hadn’t they? So she allows herself to enjoy the press of his soft lips against the backs of her fingers, and tries not to assume that whatever Loki has been doing is mischief of the worst kind.

“Thank you,” she answers, looking up at him from under her lashes. “You’re looking pretty hot yourself, stud,” she teases gently, reaching to trace a fingertip along one of the dragons on the shoulder of his kimono. “Oh sorry,” she corrects herself with a lopsided grin, “Stud- _san_.”

She steps closer, wrapping her arms around him. As far as she can tell, he’s not wearing much _under_ the kimono, and she has to snicker. “And so much quicker and easier to remove than your Asgardian daywear,” she observes, grinning up at him.

“In due time we shall see,” Loki assures her with a purr. “So, welcome to this strange corner of your planet, my jewel. Apparently all it takes to gain a castle here is to dispose of the previous owner in single combat, and leave his dishonored corpse outside the village gates. Well, that and a few other things, like turning myself into a dragon.”

Star can’t help stiffening. He’s killed someone, and that really bothers her. Not only because she’s from an entirely different culture and time, where killing is not considered ‘normal’ behaviour, but also because him killing humans just seems so much like . . . bullying.

But she also doesn’t want to antagonize him; that never goes well. So she closes her hands into fists behind his back to hide any shaking, and asks in as carefully neutral a voice as she can manage: “But Loki, what about the timeline?”

He raises a brow, so she clarifies: “I’m no expert in such matters, but every book I’ve ever read and movie I’ve ever seen on time travel says that if you go back and change things, sometimes even just small things, the future may change too.” 

She searches for something that might make an impression on him. “For example, the man you killed to gain this castle, what if a descendent of his did something in our Second World War that saved a member of _my_ family, one of my ancestors? And so now that this has been eliminated from the timeline, my ancestor dies and as a consequence **_I_** will cease to exist, the moment I leave here?”

Her hands are ice-cold. It’s just an example, but what if it could be true? The thought makes her shudder. She doubts Odin bothered, given his overall disdain of humans, to make sure Loki can’t actually do something like that to Earth’s history.

Loki considers her words and sighs. “That would be . . . regrettable, although given the astronomical population of Midgard, _highly_ unlikely. By my guess there are well over five hundred million beings on the planet right now and a good number of them are currently dying of plague on the other continents, hence my choice of _this_ isolated corner.” He circles around her, adding, “Nothing I do here will cause much of a ripple in Midgard’s history; the last true difference we of Asgard made was in defeating the Jotunn back nearly six hundred years ago, and since then the Allfather has kept it pristine.”

He keeps forgetting that for all her bravado, his pet is still fragile both in body and mindset. Loki knows it’s because of her limited lifespan, so he tries to reassure her, cupping her face and gazing into her eyes. “The warlord here challenged ME, not the other way around. Our battle would have been fair had he not tried to cheat. Apparently honor is held highly in this country, and my conduct has earned my minions’ respect, little jewel.”

Some tension leaves her face, but not all; Loki keeps his eyes on hers even as one of his hands slides down the side of her throat and skims the edge of the kimono’s collar.

While Star doesn’t think he’s outright lying to her, she doesn’t think it’s an accident that he’s left out exactly why the warlord challenged him. But this thing between them won’t work if she doubts everything he says to her.

She catches his caressing hand and brings it to her lips, kissing the palm before folding her hand around it. “OK,” she agrees, “but that’s not my only concern. Odin could be watching, and I’m afraid that if you make a regular habit of fighting with humans, he might take this as a sign that nothing has changed. As long as he thinks that, you’ll be trapped here indefinitely without access to all your powers. I’m sure that’s not what you want. Wouldn’t it make more sense to play nice, at least for now? You can think of it as your biggest con against Odin,” she suggests, smirking as she realizes that’s probably right up Loki’s alley.

He feels his chest tighten. “You are mistaken; the Allfather would _never_ watch me. He has absolutely no interest in what I do now that I am of no use to his schemes. Heimdall will report to my mother periodically, and assure her I am still alive, perhaps even tell her what I am eating, but as for Odin’s attention--it won’t be on _me_ , I assure you.”

That in itself is a relief, but Loki is touched by her concern. He hopes it doesn’t keep her from enjoying herself, or even wanting to see him though. Carefully he cocks his head and looks to see if any of his words soothe away the hint of fear in her eyes.

“You’re probably right,” she concedes. “You know him better than I do.” For the first time, it occurs to her that maybe Loki _can’t_ be anything else. He was raised to be a prince and a warrior, and now he can’t be the former, at least not on Asgard. 

So what else can she expect him to do other than fight and kill and try to carve a niche for himself in another Realm? Go into computer programming? Man the fry-o-later at McDonald’s? Walk dogs in  Central Park ?

_ No.  _ But this leaves her with the problem of trying to adjust her own worldview enough to be comfortable with him being this way towards her fellow humans. Because she’s pretty sure Loki is going to get bored of playing house here before too long. He’s too restless a spirit to want to sit on a throne and handle his subjects’ petty concerns day after day. Once the novelty wears off, she suspects he’ll be off to conquer his next pocket of her planet.

Can she live with that?

But Loki is watching her, and he looks worried, so Star does her best to smile reassuringly up at him. Maybe she just needs to wait, see how this plays out.

He smiles back, feeling a bit more relieved, and waves a hand around. “Welcome to Gurinsuta Castle. It has its charms, although some do take getting used to. Would you like a tour?” There’s a lot to see, and Loki knows some of the amenities will appeal to her--this odd culture is unlike so many on Midgard. The reverence of nature for one, and the idea that a warrior may be a poet as well. 

And it’s genteel barbarity too. Loki is pleased that there is a ruthless under-thread to all the civility here. There are manners, and there are many, many undercurrents at play but all one needs to succeed is confidence. Confidence and charm.

She looks nervous, so he adds, “Say the word and I will send you back, my jewel. I know I’ve caused you trouble before, and you do have others to consider, but right now this part of the land is at peace, and there are interesting possibilities here. I have been reading up on . . . knots.”

Star has to laugh at that, leaning into him. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a downer,” she says, and from the surprise in his eyes she wonders if she really comes off as _that_ abrasive all the time, that an apology from her is such a shock to him. 

“I’m just . . . not used to all this. Where I come from, people don’t routinely kill each other unless they’re soldiers. Which I am most certainly not. So I guess it’s a challenge for me to come to terms with the fact that your way of dealing with the world is pretty much the exact opposite.”

He draws a breath, but she shakes her head and continues: “But I want to stay. I’d love a tour. Besides, you had me at ‘knots’,” she finishes with a smirk up at him, though after a second’s thought, she has to add: “Though I wouldn’t mind if you leave out the pinwheel this time!”

He laughs and promises nothing, kissing her forehead. “Very well, let us proceed, and if we end up in the bedroom, so very much the better!”

The tour is basic, and Loki is proud of the way the minions acknowledge his pet, bowing and paying her proper respect. He shows her the various rooms and the beautiful garden, the library of scrolls and the armory and stables. She drinks in everything, her expression properly mild before the servants but when they pass the kitchen, her nose wrinkles.

“They do seem overly fond of seafood,” Loki admits with a sigh. “And noodles. I suppose there is a price for all the other amenities.”

Later, when the sun sets and they are at the edge of the koi pond in the garden, he points out the distant fields and meadows. “There are two warlords to the south, neither of whom is interested in dealing with me, and a forest of pure evil. I’m interested in exploring that and finding out what makes it so.”

Star dips her hand into the pond, smiling as the koi come up to nibble at her fingertips. “I was wondering what you would do once you took over this place. ‘Ghostbusting’ didn’t occur to me, I admit.” She chuckles though Loki, sitting next to her, looks confused.

“I’ll show you the film sometime,” she promises. She hesitates, and then reaches to lay her hand atop his larger one. “At the risk of sounding repetitive, I hope you’ll be careful. You don’t have as much magic at your disposal as you used to, thanks to Odin. And ‘pure evil’ sounds pretty . . . ominous. Even though I’m fairly certain once you set foot in there, the most evil thing in the forest will be _you_.” She winks to show him she’s just teasing, allowing herself to squeeze his fingers. 

“Agreed,” Loki tells her, “on both accounts. And be careful yourself, or I might begin to think you actually _care_ about me,” he adds in a teasing tone. The look she shoots him is a lovely blend of annoyance and guilt that makes him chuckle to see it. “Ah, caught, I see.”

She refuses to admit anything, rising up and smoothing her kimono, but Loki catches her wrist and pulls her to sit in his lap, his grip gentle but unbreakable. “Ah . . . you may be my consort but we both know you are _no_ meek and timid lady. Perhaps it’s time to remind you who rules here?”

He lightly brings her arm up behind her back; not to hurt her, merely to restrain her, and flicks his tongue along her throat, tasting his pet’s pulse, which is rapid now. 

Loki is so smug and self-assured, like this is merely some kind of chess game between them. It annoys her, the way he’s baiting her, even as she shivers pleasurably from the nips he’s stringing in a line down her throat. She tugs but he won’t release her wrist, not that she really wants him to. 

Well, maybe Star can surprise him for a change. “No, I _don’t_ care about you,” she growls, though she pauses, swallowing hard before continuing with: “I love you.” There, she’s said it, though as soon as she lets the admission past her lips, she feels the truth of it.

It’s a moment of complete and total honesty with both Loki and herself, and even though she has no clue how he’ll react, Star feels as though a great weight has finally come off her shoulders.

For a moment Loki freezes, stunned by his pet’s words. Can she _mean_ it? He wonders. Is it possible, or is this just _another_ move to put him off-balance? He tries not to react but a little exhalation escapes him, brushing against the skin of her neck. Slowly Loki lifts his head, tipping it to give her a sidelong gaze.

She looks like the luscious hellcat she is: proud, irritated, and impossibly pretty in her kimono. Loki loosens his grip and lets his hand slide down her stiff spine as his other hand shifts, sliding into the neckline and under the heavy silk of the robe.

“Ah, well I will require . . . proof, sweet toy.”

Star laughs. “Proof? Oh, please. You think I strap on a fake cock and mount just _anybody_?” She knocks his hand away, puts her hands on her hips and stares him down. “What more proof do you need, Loki of Jotunnheim?” 

“If that is your definition of love, then I suppose I should be flattered. And slightly worried,” he tells her, teeth gleaming. “Love and lust both begin with ‘L’ but they are not the same. I am more delighted with the fact you keep returning to me as proof. That you fret over me and that you bully me to your little heart’s content. And mine.”

“I’m the bully? Pot, kettle, Loki- _sama_ ,” she teases, wagging her finger at him. “But if you require further proof, fine. Tell me what I may do to win the heart of the fabled Trickster, the Silver-Tongued Liesmith.” She waits, enjoying herself now. She has no hope of winning a verbal game with him, but she’ll settle for holding her own.

“Do precisely what I ask and we shall _see_ how ruthless you and I can be together,” he offers, and moves to kiss her, nipping her lip hard enough to leave little indentations.

“Ouch!” she says, elbowing him hard. “Down, big boy. Just ‘cause I love you doesn’t mean I’m going to tolerate _everything_ you throw at me.” She rolls off his lap, glaring at him over her shoulder . . . but she heads into the bedroom, towards the massive futon. _Let’s see what he makes of_ that.

Loki launches himself, swooping quickly and scooping her up, taking both of them forward through sheer momentum until they land on the mattress, tangled. He cups his pet’s face and smiles down at her. “Even if I throw _myself_?”

Star has to laugh. “Seems to be working for you thus far,” she agrees. She grabs a handful of his hair and pulls him into a hard kiss, their teeth clacking together. It starts nearly brutal but then softens, her tongue slipping around his, over and over until she needs more oxygen.

“You are freakin’ _heavy_ though,” she complains mildly when they break apart at last, wriggling to try to get his weight off her chest and more air into her lungs.

He gives a quick, breathless chuckle of his own, and rises up, heading for the screen doors, leaning against one and shouting loudly. “Maro!”

A clatter of sandals and one of the little maids appears, looking terrified. Loki supposes he looks a fright and could care less. “Supper after  midnight . I require soft rope, a lantern and some of the scented oil. NOW.”

Star giggles a little nervously. “Uh-oh, I’m in for it now, aren’t I?” She remembers the last time he bound her. Ice-cord and pinwheels . . . intense, as he had promised, but also with some difficult challenges for her. On the other hand, a lot has changed since then. She hopes he’s not intending to be _that_ ruthless this time.

Loki turns, pointing a finger at her, and he smirks, his hair tousled. “Shhhhhhh. These walls are paper, and you may want to remember that . . . if you can. I intend to see if you can be quiet once I have you properly under me.”

_ Oh yeah, good luck with that _ , she thinks. “What’s my motivation? Do I win a prize or something if I succeed?” she asks coyly, batting her eyelashes. There’s no way in hell she can be quiet, but maybe he hasn’t figured that out yet. Maybe.

He laughs; by the Gods Loki loves a challenge. “The longest, slowest orgasm of all time,” he purrs. “Brought to the edge more times than you can count, until you are drenched with sweat and begging for release. Will that do for now?”

It would, but the imp in her says: “I can do that to _myself_. You’ll need to do better than that.”

“Perhaps with an audience,” he taunts her, turning to lean against the door. “I am sure Maro and Aoki would be fascinated to see what I can do to you.”

Her eyes widen despite herself. “You wouldn’t,” she says. She’s pretty sure he wouldn’t, but- “Besides, a prize by definition has to be something I WANT. I don’t want to be on display to your household staff. Nuh- _uh_. Show-off,” she adds, muttering the last bit.

“I would, but since mere orgasms aren’t to your delight,” Loki murmurs, “I suppose I might make matters more selective.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” She’s tempted just to assure him that she was kidding about the orgasm thing - is it possible she’s actually won this particular sparring contest? No way. She really must have thrown him off with her admission of love.

Loki watches her and hides his grin; she is _so_ easy to bait sometimes. He cocks his head, hearing Maro returning, and pulls the screen open once more, glaring at the maid. She holds out a beautiful little paper lantern, coils of cotton-soft rope and a little bottle of something that smells of hyacinth.

Star watches warily. She gets the rope and the oil, but . . . a lantern? She hopes he’s not planning on dripping hot wax on her.

“We are NOT to be disturbed,” Loki tells the maid, and takes one step towards her, making her shrink away. He slams the screen shut and turns back to Star, eyes bright.

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him, saying nothing until she sees where exactly he’s going with this.

“This isn’t about what _you_ want; it’s about what _I_ want. And what _I_ want is to have you come for me four times tonight,” Loki tells her. “So I believe we need to get started.”

Star can feel her cheeks going bright red. “Uh, OK. Well, um, it’s good to have goals, isn’t it?” She shifts a little, already aching, just wondering how exactly he intends to achieve that.

“Do you like that kimono or not?” Loki asks his tone ruthlessly pleasant. “If you do I’ll be careful with it; if not, it will be torn off you. Your choice, my jewel.” he steps forward, letting the rope dangle, holding the lantern up.

“You gave me the kimono,” she points out. “Do what you want. We both know you will anyway. Besides,” she adds, looking down at it with a smile. “I’m not sure I even know how to get it off!” 

She slips off the side of the futon, debating whether she dares tease him further by trying to make a break for it. The garden door is over to her right, and she edges over that way, trying not to be too obvious about it.

He shoots her a knowing look. “One fact about that garment you may not realize is that you cannot run in one. This culture is exceedingly geared towards the patriarchy and as such tipped to my advantage.” Loki reaches up and hangs the lantern on the small hook on the wall before setting the rope and bottle down. “If you prefer to be chased, perhaps you should consider that there will be no light outside and you are in unfamiliar territory.”

From the look of chagrin on his pet’s face, Loki knows she’s just realized that and isn’t willing to admit it. He pulls the sash from his waist, letting his own robe slither open, revealing his bare chest and drawstring pants. “Tell me now if you need a gag or not.”

Star freezes, eyes wide as a mixture of excitement and terror roils in her belly. She had wondered whether he still expected her to remain quiet, but apparently he’s decided he’s going to ensure it. “Intriguing,” she admits, happy that her voice is only shaking slightly, “But if I can’t speak, how can I let you know if it’s becoming too intense and I need you to slow things down?” It’s a reasonable request, she thinks. 

Of course, this assumes that she’ll be able to speak up _this_ time if it’s too challenging for her. 

“How would you _like_ to tell me?” he puts it back to her, feeling a surge of erotic amusement. It’s easy to see the war between trust and lust in his pet’s expression and Loki is aware that she has every right to be apprehensive about not being able to speak. Still, the idea excites her; he can tell, and Loki can’t deny it holds a frisson of pleasure for him too. 

More than trust, it’s also about letting her let go. 

He saunters forward, hands held out. “Would you want one hand free? I’ll even give you this--” he pulls a small frost dagger out and extends the handle towards her with a gentle tease of courtesy. “--to make yourself absolutely clear.”

Now she looks even more caught, and shifts her weight, her hair tumbling loose from the little pins in it. Loki eyes the neckline of the kimono and feels himself stiffen.

“My eyes are up here, thanks muchly. And I am not going to fucking _stab you_ to get you to stop,” she scolds, pretty sure he’s completely making fun of her. 

She turns away from him, struggling for calm as she thinks out loud: “No, I think I’d rather be tied up completely. And no, before you ask, it’s not something I’ve done before -- being gagged, that is -- but if I remember correctly some Doms give their subs a little bell or buzzer they can ring. Or maybe a ball, something they can drop as their signal.” She braces herself for derision and risks glancing over her shoulder at him. “Do we have anything like that around here?” 

It would be much easier to trust him if he wasn’t so eager to push her all the time. He’s a god, she’s not; she has to protect herself if he won’t.

_ Maybe this is some kind of reaction to what I said earlier. He wants to be loved, desperately, but he’s still repulsed and terrified by the idea. So now he’s going to do everything he can to scare me off before he can get hurt. In other words, nothing’s changed since Niflheim. _

She hopes she’s wrong about that.

Loki glances around but the austerity of the room offers up nothing that fits the bill. He reconsiders the sash. “Maybe instead of a gag you’d consider a blindfold,” he offers, a little more quietly, “a chance to lose one sense and sharpen the others.” It’s easy to slip the blade back into its sheath while she thinks over his words, and Loki allows his robe to slide off one shoulder in a moment of vanity. 

Given the way Star watches it happen, he knows perfectly well that she’s aroused. The heat in her eyes and the flick of her tongue at the corner of her mouth show him so, and he can’t help but grin a bit.

“Next time you can blindfold me,” Star says to him, struggling not to allow him to distract her. She’s not quite willing to give up on the gag idea yet, she’s certain they can find a way to make it work. He takes a long step towards her, still smiling wickedly as he twines his sash idly through his long fingers, and Star resists the urge to slap him. She’s _trying_ to figure this out, damn him, and it’s not helping that he’s obviously intent on teasing her!

She turns away again, looking out at the garden as she turns the problem over in her head. Maybe those women he mentioned - Mako and Aoki? - would have something that would work . . . 

He shifts up right behind her, his body heat invading her personal space. Then the obvious hits her--

“Are you seriously telling me that you, a master of magic, can’t conjure something? Or transform something in this room into something else? So what if your ‘three spells’ will be up for the day? It’s not like I can’t sleep over, or even stay here for a couple days if necessary, especially if you can send me back to whatever time point is needed so I won’t be missed.”

Star turns to face him, the sash still in his hand giving her an idea. “We won’t need my sash. So, why not turn it into something else? A little bell, or a ball I can drop onto the futon or the floor or something, depending on what, um. . .” she gulps audibly, “ _position_ you happen to have me in.”

Tense yet wet in anticipation, she waits on his response, her gaze on his bare chest.

She’s clever; he’ll give her that. Loki suspects his pet’s ability to negotiate is part of what makes her fascinating--the give and take always a bit of a challenge, always a bit of a tease.

“You’re getting bolder,” he tells her approvingly. “I _like_ that.” Loki considers aloud. “Very well. We’re nearly two hours to  midnight , and at that point my three spells will be renewed. Two hours,” he reminds her with a bright-eyed look, “to play. The one spell left to me . . . Hmmmmm.” 

Pacing back a moment, Loki holds up his hands and lets a flare of green sparkles rise between them. It twists like a dragon, snaking around the room and leaving trails of glitter behind it before splitting into three halos. One circles the sash in his hand, turning it into a little lattice ball of overlapping silver plates. One halo circles the room, sinking into the walls in a pattern that looks like the same ones that decorate the ball, and the last one circles his other hand and turns into a beautiful muzzle of black mesh with dragons embroidered on it. Loki lifts it to his mouth and kisses it before adding, “One spell; three charms. A chime bell, a soundproof room and this.”

“S-sounds good,” Star answers him, trying not to stammer as her apprehension mounts, though she has to wonder why he bothered to soundproof the room when she’s already going to be silenced. Extra ‘insurance’, perhaps? 

Her hands want to shake so she clenches one by her side, reaching the other to take the little bell as Loki hands it to her, his warm fingers brushing hers lightly, though his smile is promising wickedness.

She gives the bell an experimental shake and a musical tinkling fills the room, though she finds her gaze keeps going back to the muzzle. It’s not the fierce metal one she put on him, and for that she feels grateful.

Closing her fist firmly around the ball, she looks up to meet Loki’s sly gaze as he glides to stand right in front of her. “Shall we begin, my Prince?” she asks. 

____________________

Working with the cord rope is fairly easy, and Loki knows precisely how he wants to restrain his pet. Loops around each wrist and elbow, crossing behind her to keep her arms close to her torso of course. He moves with deliberation, checking to make sure circulation isn’t impeded, and carefully crosses the cords down her torso, securing each point with a knot both decorative and functional.

He hums as he works, hands skimming down her velvet skin, and absently Loki admires Star’s figure as he does so. For her part she stays still, allowing him to direct and move her without interjection, although her eyes watch him and occasionally she licks her lips. When Loki reaches her hips, he loops the cords around each knee and cunningly secures the lines through the loops at her elbows, bringing her legs up and hitched high--rope stirrups of a sort. More cord wraps around her ankles and he makes little handles on each, all the better to spread her legs wider as he wishes.

And he does, oh yes--the pleasure of having her open and exposed to his sight and touch drives him on in sweet anticipation. The lantern flickers slightly, and out in the garden the crickets chirp as Loki finishes up and kneels back to admire his handiwork.

Star’s pulse speeds in her ears as she tests the bonds. Not tight enough to cause discomfort, but not loose enough to allow much movement beyond a wiggle on her part. They press against her skin, an intricate full-body corset. Her eyes flick to the red kimono neatly folded on the floor beside the futon; despite his threat to rip it to shreds earlier, in the end he had removed it slowly and carefully. Perhaps he decided it looked too pretty on her to be destroyed.

Loki hasn’t muzzled her yet and she takes a deep breath, as much as she can against the constricting rope, trying to tell her hand not to squeeze the little bell quite so tightly. It’s difficult, though. She remembers the last time he had her this helpless, and it hadn’t all been pleasant. 

She hopes this time will be different as she takes another slow breath, working to relax into the firm embrace of the rope, her eyes meeting Loki’s. It’s a little bizarre how she can love him, yet at the same time Star’s not sure she completely trusts him.

Loki senses her tension and mentally acknowledges the reasons for it; he understands her trepidation so he moves with deliberation, picking up the oil. It’s a light one, pressed from almonds, and the perfume within it is of some local flower. He sets it within easy reach, then takes the gag, caressing it lightly before speaking to his pet.

“The purpose of a gag is to give you freedom,” he murmurs to her. “Contradictory I know, but true. With a gag you can vocalize all you wish and feel safe that what sounds you make won’t be heard--or at least understood. I myself have been gagged and muzzled more than anyone else in Asgard because . . . well, because my particular gift for words tends to spark trouble. I’ve been gagged to keep me from speaking, and gagged to keep me from breaking someone else’s . . . concentration.”

A flash of memory flickers within his thoughts and Loki recalls his first time with a suppressed shiver of pleasure. His pet’s eyes are large and dark; she holds his gaze and he speaks again. “However muzzled you may be, though, it is vitally important I know you are comfortable and safe. While I might enjoy a bit of pain with my pleasure, you do not, and I will not, cannot forget that. Therefore---” he reaches his free hand to touch the back of hers, his fingers cool. “Your chime bell. At the slightest sound of it, I will stop. Instantly.”

She nods, appreciating his concern. “I know. I have it ready,” she says to him, smiling a little as she shakes it lightly, rotating her wrist against the rope.

He shifts on the bed, uncoiling to lie next to her, his skin warm on hers as he holds up the muzzle between them. Not trusting her voice, she nods her head slowly, wriggling a little against the rope. No matter how nervous she is, there’s no denying she’s turned on too. Being so exposed, so open and _wet_ , she can feel the dampness between her legs all too easily whenever a soft breeze puffs into the room, and she knows he’s going to be able to see and fondle _everything_ , every tender crevice and fold if he so desires. That notion spikes her desire even higher. 

With care, Loki moves to kiss her, tongue caressing hers before he pulls back and traces her lips with it. Then, with deliberate courtesy, he places the lace over her damp mouth.

“Tell me what would be better,” he intones. “A gag, with the cloth between your teeth, or a muzzle, keeping your lips closed? Both arouse me, but I want to know _your_ preference.” As he speaks, Loki lets his fingers glide over her shoulder, tracing along the edge of the cord in a light, maddening touch. “If I gag you, you certainly won’t be able to speak, and having something to bite might make this game . . . exciting, although it can be a bit damp. On the other hand if you choose to be muzzled I won’t see your beautiful lips, only your hellfire eyes.” 

He throbs against her thigh, loving the slow anticipation, the delicious pace of choice here.

It’s hard to think when he’s distracting her, but she tries. Considering his plan for the next two hours, she’ll probably appreciate something to bite down on, rather than being forced to grind her teeth together. It will probably be easier to breathe too, and why deprive him of the sight of her ‘beautiful lips’?

Randomly, she remembers a boyfriend long ago who used to watch her mouth very closely when they went out for dinner together. He’d told her that her mouth was ‘very sexy’, which had been both exciting and embarrassing to her. Loki apparently shares that opinion.

So when Loki raises the fabric slightly away, Star answers without hesitation. “I choose the gag, my Prince,” she answers, tilting her chin up for a final kiss. He obliges her, the press of his lips and the dart of his tongue harder and hungrier this time, the ends of his hair tickling her face and neck, then he slips the lace between her teeth.

Loki lets her settle her bite into it, and then motions for her to lift her head so he can tie it firmly. He feels her breath against the front of his shoulder as he works quickly; making sure the bow has long ends which will be easy to reach quickly. When he touches her to let her know she can lay back again, his pet looks beautifully erotic now, the black of the gag an ebony stripe between her red lips. Lightly, Loki kisses her top and lower lips and then in a playful afterthought, her nose.

“I am savoring this,” he confesses, “your submission is . . . intoxicating.” 

She snorts a little, making it clear that despite the gag she is still very much unfazed by him, and seeing it, Loki laughs. “I see . . . still going to make me work for our rewards, hmmmm? Very well. We shall start with  . . .” He slides a hand to cup the underside of her nearest breast, “ . . . touch. Exactly _how_ sensitive are you, my jewel?”

_ ‘How sensitive I am’? Again? _ she thinks, fighting not to try to laugh at him somehow through the gag. He was singing the exact same tune the last time he had her in his ‘snare’. 

She’s still hoping things will go a little easier for her this time.

His thumb brushes over her nipple, Loki’s smile is more than a little naughty as she shivers and makes a small noise in her throat. Moving slowly, her prince reaches for the bottle of oil and he tips a little into his palm, rubbing his hands together and then bringing them to Star’s neck. 

She flinches. Not because she doesn’t trust him; it’s just a reflex she has when anybody’s hands are near her throat. He cocks his head at her reaction but leans over her, his lower body still pressed against her side and his warm fingers curling around the sides of her neck to massage the flowery oil into her skin.

Paradoxically, despite her earlier reflex she _adores_ neck-rubs, so it’s not difficult for Loki to coax her into relaxing against the ropes, a purring note sounding in her throat that isn’t silenced at all by the gag. The floral scent of the oil teases at her senses, his hair tickling her again as his face hovers over hers. Their combined breathing is surprisingly loud in the small room, the noise of crickets a rhythmic counterpoint.

His shaft is still pressed against her thigh, leaving a little smear of moisture as he shifts position. “I think you enjoyed that,” he observes with gentle amusement, and she nods in full agreement. When she stills his tongue traces along her lower lip with agonizing leisure, then he moves down the bed, ending up between her open thighs, picking up the bottle again as his eyes roam her body, plotting his next move.

The truth is simple; his pet is now relaxed and anywhere he touches her from this point on will be responsive. Loki tests this by pouring a little oil between her breasts and using his fingertips to trace the runes of his name down her torso, shifting over the cords to do so. It doesn’t hurt that he’s letting the very tip of his prick brush against her slick cleft as he does so.

Her heat is amazing. Loki knows all Midgardians are warm-blooded but Star is particularly hot, especially now, and he fights to stay focused. This is about her . . . for the moment.

She was expecting the tease, so she’s not surprised at all when he dribbles oil just below the cord trapping one knee. He watches intently as the oil makes a slow trail down her skin, then he follows it with more of those little strokes; Star has no idea what he’s doing, and again she really hopes he’s not writing rude things on her (though knowing him, he probably _is_ ).

Star can feel the oil trickling down the side of her sex, running ticklishly down the curve of her rear, and she groans then huffs through her nose as he moves to repeat the oil application on her other leg. 

_ He is going to kill me,  _ she thinks. _I’m going to be the first human to die of frustration-by-teasing. That’s all there is to it._

Loki is still caressing her leg, his touch making her skin tingle. The diabolical tilt of her lips tells her he knows exactly what she’s thinking as his fingers veer nearer to her sensitive spots . . .and then away. Of course.

Star growls low in her throat, and Loki laughs with delight, before nipping her inner thigh hard enough to make her twitch hard against the ropes. She twitches again in surprise when his fingers follow the path of the second trail of oil, and she draws in a sharp breath as he grazes a slick fingertip lightly across the puckered opening between the cheeks of her ass.

She supposes she should have expected he might want to ‘play’ in that fashion, especially after their earlier pegging antics. But he hadn’t hurt her the last time he’d taken her that way, so she’s game if he is. Then again, it could just be a tease that goes nowhere . . .

Loki circles the little mauve pucker and taps his finger on it a moment, taking in the flare of her nostrils with a keen gaze. She’s definitely tensing, in a good way, and he shifts his hand, letting the edges of his nails scrape on the underside of one thigh.

“You smell ripe and sweet,” he tells his pet in a husky voice. “Ready to be taken with heat and hardness.” Moving carefully Loki slips two fingers deeply into her cunt and spreads them, taking care not to touch anything else. He feels his pet tense, feels the slick squeeze of her cleft around his fingers as he twists them, stroking those hot inner walls.

She gives a moan around the gag, and her hips hitch up, rocking to try and keep his fingers there but Loki pulls them out and circles the rim of her cunt, smearing the slickness around. He breathes in the perfume, throbbing hard in quick response to it. “Ripe, yes,” he repeats, “but not _quite_ ready.” Slowly, he repeats the action several times, thrusting deep, twisting his parted fingers, and then pulling them out to lightly stroke the wet circumference of her pussy. With each turn more and more of her slickness dribbles out, making his fingers shiny.

Star groans, twisting a little against the ropes. How she can adore and hate something at the same time . . .she grinds the lace between her teeth as the blood pounds in her ears, wishing in an odd moment that’s totally unlike her that she could sink her teeth into _him_. 

His fingers press into her again, knead her from the inside out, and he shifts position to blow a cool breath over her aching clit. Star jerks as much as the bonds allow, a helpless mewl escaping her, and he laughs in a way that prickles deliciously along her spine.

With casual ease, Loki slides his middle finger along the pucker of her ass, putting a little pressure on it and gauging her reaction. Star’s eyes widen a bit, but he knows it’s not in shock, no, simply in response. He manages a little smirk. “Shall I show you what I learned in  Macedonia ?”

He pauses, waiting to see how she responds, vowing to himself that should her pretty brows draw together he’ll stop. There can be no misunderstandings, not this time, Loki reminds himself. Tonight is about regaining a degree of trust with his pet, and returning the sweet sensuality she gave him in  Europe . Still, his blood is up, along with his cock, and Loki gives himself a quick caress with his free hand, well-aware of how her eyes flick to watch him before she lets her gaze return to his.

Loki reluctantly lets go of his prick, waiting for either the shake of her head or her nod.

For a moment it’s all just too surreal. She’s in Ancient Japan, bound up and subject to the tender mercies of the Norse god of mischief, who is asking to do something to her that he learned from a civilization which was dead loooooooong before she was even a glimmer in her parents’ eyes . . .

_ My officemate from the History department would be really envious right now. Or maybe confused. I’m not sure which,  _ she thinks randomly and somewhat incoherently.

But Loki is waiting. His fingers are still inside her but moving gently, while he oh so slightly caresses that _other_ entrance to her body. He didn’t hurt her the last time they played that way, so Star makes her decision. It’s a nod, her teeth tightening on the gag in anticipation of something both intense and delightful.

Loki smiles and lightly presses the little pucker again, teasing it. Some of the oil has made it here, allowing for a slickness that he appreciates as much as Star is about to. With a soft curl of his hand he now has his thumb brushing her clit, his index finger within her pussy and his middle finger . . . gently he presses, feeling her tense up a bit before relaxing against his touch.

“Three points of pleasure, in a line,” he tells her, his free hand slipping under one of the cords and tugging it, just to remind her she’s bound. “No wonder we keep them between our legs, safe and secret, eh?” As he speaks, Loki presses again, and the tip of his finger slips in, squeezed by the ring of muscle. He stills his hand to let her get used to the sensation and ohh the look on her face is wondrous. The sheen on her fair skin, and the way her teeth work on the gag have him throbbing now, stiffening in glorious anticipation. Deliberately Loki looks to her hand--the one gripping the chime ball--and glances from it back to her face.

His pet’s nostrils flare, but the chime is ever so still, so he begins to move his fingers with little thrusts and twists. Miniscule, but Loki knows his pet feels them oh yes. Her thighs tense, trying to close even as her hips rise in response to his delicate caresses.

_ Oh God, oh g- _ Star’s back wants to arch but it can’t, not within the taut cradle of rope, so she settles for panting around the gag and rolling her head from side-to-side on the mattress, sweat beading on every part of her. It’s more than pleasure, it’s a sweet delirium that she simultaneously feels like she can’t handle, but also wishes will never ever end. 

He thrusts into her a fraction deeper, grazing tender nerves, his thumb caressing her nub just a touch harder. Star finds herself making a noise somewhere between a squeal and a mewl, her feet curling and her fists clenching. . . she’s pretty sure the pattern of little plates on the bell is going to be indented deep into her palm long before he’s done.

It starts from where his fingers are so lusciously violating her; heat, pressure, tingling. A wave spreading over her like honey, her muscles tightening and tightening until she’s no longer aware of anything else. Not the crickets, the room, not even the ropes. There’s just her body and Loki inside her and against her, and she utters a final half-muted cry as her muscles squeeze even tighter around him, and she is unmade.

Star slumps, grateful for the ropes around her like an anchor. Loki’s still within her, moving gently as a few final shudders wrack her. Her breath whistles around the gag and through half-lidded eyes she sees Loki smiling, his expression smug as he strokes himself lightly.

_ That was . . .incredible. I SO have to put that into my Lokane fanfic, _ is her first thought once she’s able to organize everything in her brain back into straight lines. Then comes her next thought: _Holy crap. That was only the_ first _orgasm. He wants_ three _more._

She wonders if she’ll be able to manage that, and if he’ll continue with the same strategy -- sure seemed to work -- or if he has other delicious torments up his sleeve. 

Loki slowly withdraws his fingers and moves to wash them in one of the little basins on the stand near the futon, humming to himself and feeling pleased. The Macedonians should be commended, he thinks, and turns to look at Star. She’s still, resting a bit, so he brings over a damp cloth and wipes her forehead and face.

“Water?” he asks quietly. “We have further to go, but comfort _is_ important.” As Loki speaks he rubs himself against one of her feet, knowing full well the heat of his cock will tickle the insole of his pet’s foot. She shakes her head at his offer, and her lips move in a little smile around the gag, demonstrating her spirit and amusement.

“Very well,” Loki tells her. “We shall shift you then. I intend to turn you over and onto your knees so that your luscious backside is at my mercy.” 

She looks perplexed, but Loki soothes her. “You shall be supported with pillows, _many_ of them, jewel mine, and I will be sure you can breathe of course.”

Star nods slowly, trying not to shiver at Loki’s puckish answering smile. Sometimes she wishes she had a less developed erotic imagination; there are too many scenarios in her mind’s eye as a result of his words. Spanking or some other kind of ‘punishment’. Or maybe he intends to pay her back in kind for her acts the last time she played at being Domme. 

On the other hand, it could simply be that he wants to _take_ her. Given how aroused he obviously is, his prick nearly purple and moisture glistening at the very tip, Star doesn’t begrudge him that. It’s still one of her favourite positions after all.

She watches him hum softly as he works, arranging the flat pillows into a low stack on the bed until everything is to his satisfaction. Loki lifts her with no effort whatsoever, turning and positioning her exactly as he wants, and Star’s skin tingles wherever his body makes passing contact with hers.

He places her down on her knees, though due to the ropes she feels bent nearly double. The pillows under her belly take some of the weight off her legs however, and Loki places other pillows carefully under her chest, and still another under her cheek after urging her to turn her head to the side. Star closes her eyes and breathes deeply, urging herself to relax. He could have her this way for quite awhile, and she’s fairly certain she’ll enjoy it far more if she surrenders completely. 

Loki pulls back for a moment, enjoying the sight of her against the pillows, bound and waiting. His pet’s skin is still flushed, and he knows that even though she’s starting to relax that there is still some tension throughout her frame, particularly in her knees and shoulders. He runs a possessive hand along her bare flank, caressing it in what he hopes is gentle reassurance. “I want you,” he growls in honesty, “very much. However at the moment I still need to earn my pleasure.”

He rises to his knees and manages to wedge his prick along the fold of her hip and stomach, fitting against the warm skin there as he reaches back and plants a swat on her ass. Star flinches from the stroke, which makes a meaty sound. On her fair skin blooms the imprint of his palm. Loki gives a little moan since her movement is squeezing his prick nicely. “Another,” he orders, sounding a little like Thor if Thor had any erotic creativity, and smacks her bottom again, this time on the other cheek.

She starts again, moaning around the lace, and the squirm strokes him once more. Loki thrusts a tiny bit, laughs, and spanks her again. After six alternating blows he stops, and lets his burning fingers slide between her cheeks to the hot dripping honey of her cunt, caressing the petals of her sex lightly. When he speaks, his voice is heavy with lust. “You are _soaked_ , my pet, utterly drenched! Do you think of nothing else but having me between your legs?”

A laugh tries to spill from her lips, though it turns into a kind of breathy chuckle around the gag. Already wise to his game, she wriggles very deliberately against his prick, laughing again as his breath catches audibly. _You think I’m helpless just because you have me tied up? Think again_ , she tries to convey with her eyes, winking lecherously up at him.

Her ass throbs deliciously, the heat soaking deep into skin and muscle from where he struck her. She can’t help trying to push her hips back as much as she can, nudging her sex against his hand, which is still touching her so lightly that it almost _tickles_. When he pulls away slightly, thwarting her efforts, she squirms again just to hear him gasp, and she lets him see her own hungry grin around the gag.

Loki spanks her again, alternating between sets of blows and caresses, making sure to circle nearer and nearer to her clit each time. He feels the shift of tension against his prick as her stomach tightens and it’s a struggle to keep his focus on her as his own body protests. Still, he lets his fingers rub precisely the right spot and savors the sensation of Star’s climax as she shudders around him, her muffled cries muted by her gag.

“ _My_ turn,” he tells her, and moves behind his pet, slowly sinking himself into her sweet, searing cunt. The sensation makes him groan and he thrusts, barely able to breathe with the sheer pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. Loki drives himself deep into that velvet cleft, gripping the cords at her hips for better control. Harder and faster he strokes, letting the inevitable surge of liquid fire surge through his cock at the last minute, the thick gushes joining with her own wetness in a deluge of lust. He feels Star’s deeper, slower climax melding with his as she tenses against him.

He doesn’t quite slump over her but it’s a near thing. Carefully Loki keeps his knees spread, holding his balance as he draws deep breaths, his hair tangled and damp. The robe is damp, the bed is damp; hardly anything in the room is dry now, and he chuckles at that.

Star breathes noisily around the gag, her mind utterly, wonderfully blank for a long time. Eventually she feels Loki slide himself slowly out of her, and immediately she misses the feeling of him inside her. _Don’t worry, we’re still not done, right? Three orgasms down, one to go . . .or wait, did what just happen count as one orgasm, or two?_ She’s not sure. Math has never been her strong suit, and right now her brain is pretty effectively short-circuited either way.

Sweat coats her body and she can feel it running down her skin, and she shakes her head a little in a fruitless attempt to loosen wet strands from her cheeks. Her whole body feels as if it’s radiating heat; she wonders if steam could be rising from her skin. Even though he’s warned her against it, she thinks right now she wouldn’t mind at all if he was in his Jotunn form.

The only thing that feels dry on this bed is her throat, which clicks when she swallows. She clears it in a bid to get his attention when Loki moves to kneel next to her, then she motions with her chin towards the pitcher of water on the nightstand.

Loki pours some in one of the rounded little sake cups and carefully lifts her head so she can sip it once he tugs the gag down. His pet’s easy trust warms him the way their climaxes did; naturally. He gives her a bit more, watching her eyes to see if she wants more, and steals a sip himself once she’s sated. Star works her mouth a little, wriggling her jaw and licking her lips for a few moments.

“More?” Loki asks, holding out the cup.

“Sure,” she says, accepting a final sip. She watches him drain the rest of the cup. She tries to blow sweat-dampened strands off her forehead, her eyes narrowing as her earlier thought about his Jotunn form resurfaces. They’d discussed his Jotunn form briefly during the time they’d corresponded with each other, before they had ever met in person, and he had never seemed too keen on the idea. 

At the time, she’d assumed his reaction was because he hated his true heritage, but their later discussion in  Tahiti , when he’d been wearing a female form, seemed to disprove that. So maybe he is more concerned about her comfort or safety, which Star has no quarrel with, and yet . . . don’t they have an obvious out? _Why didn’t I think of this before?_

The god in question is in the midst of setting the little cup back on the nightstand. “Loki, can I make a suggestion?” she asks quickly as he turns back to her, before he can slide the gag back into her mouth. 

Loki sits next to her, inclining his head courteously towards her. “You may always ask, my treasure. Though I cannot promise I will honour it.” He smirks.

She fights the urge to roll her eyes. “We’ve talked about you taking your Jotunn form. You said it wasn’t a good idea - that your outer surface is cold stone and it wouldn’t be much fun for me, but . . .“ She stops to gather her scattered thoughts. “I know you can change shape, so couldn’t you alter your Jotunn form enough that you’d still be stone, but I don’t know, make your surface smoother and warmer?” But then she remembers too late: “Although, I guess we’d have to wait a bit on that, because you said you’d used up your three spells for the day.”

Then she scrunches her brow, because -- Had he? He’d brought her here, which was one. He’d conjured the gag, bell and soundproofing. That was two. Which had been the third spell?

Loki looks at her, his thoughts churning as he does so. It’s hard to believe she would _want_ to see his Jotunn form; no human has, and he’s well-aware of how off-putting it is, even for beings who have seen Ice Giants before. And as for the magic required to hold two separate forms at the same time . . .  well, that trick would require focused concentration, certainly.

“Why, my pet?” he asks, finally. “Do you have some desire to be taken by a monster? Because what you are asking, while not impossible may not be pleasant for you, even if I alter my prick to suit. And do not tell me that you will find me handsome no matter what form I take because you are no liar, Star. I would rather hear that this is some fantasy of yours than any story to appease my vanity.”

He waits for her reply, feeling mildly unsettled; reminded that despite his best efforts over the centuries he is neither a fair Asgardian nor Midgardian and that only two people have ever seen his true form.

She blinks, confused by his reaction. Maybe she’s misremembering their conversation in  Tahiti . “A ‘monster’? That’s a pretty harsh assessment of yourself, don’t you think? Besides, I’m perfectly capable of deciding for myself what you are, and how handsome you are in whatever form you happen to be in at the moment.” She glares up at him. 

“For the record, while it might be fantasy, believe me when I say I am not the _only_ human female with a kink for bedding you in your Jotunn form. I’ll show you the next time you’re back in _my_ time; the Internet is full of examples. We apparently think inter-species sex is hot. Or in this case, _cold_ , I guess.” She chuckles, then has to chuckle again at the incongruity of it all -- only _she_ would attempt to take on Loki in a verbal battle while hog-tied, soaked in sweat and sundry bodily fluids, and with her face half-mashed into a pillow. 

“Or . . . maybe you just think I’m incapable of loving _all_ aspects of you, Loki?” she continues, her amusement fading after a long moment of uneasy silence on his part, “I guess I’m not the only one with trust issues, then,” she finishes in softer, regretful tones.

Loki brushes a strand of hair from her face and helps to roll her to her side before speaking. “I suppose you are not. As I told you then, I have accepted that I am Jotunn but I have yet to take any true pride in the matter, my pet. Hundreds of years of keeping my facade, of hearing how Ice Giants are monsters cannot be overcome in a single night, particularly since I am despised by both Asgardians and Jotunn. Still, I am willing to play to your whim if it is what you truly want because you have told me you love me. For that, I am yours.”

He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile, feeling a strange sense of pride. That she would want him as he _truly_ is . . . that in itself would certainly put commitment to her words. For a moment Loki takes in a deep breath, then allows his form to shift, to ripple away until the cool indigo of his skin reveals the Jotunn underneath.

She hadn’t expected him to capitulate so quickly, if at all, and it takes her completely by surprise.

Then the wave of cold hits Star. Her breath mists in the air between them as she sighs in mingled relief and pleasure. In a few minutes she’s probably going to be shivering, but for now it actually feels pretty damned good on her overheated flesh. “Thanks,” she purrs gratefully, “for a second there I thought I was going to spontaneously combust!”

He chuckles and it sounds strange to her ears, like rocks are rubbing together inside his throat, and she tilts her head to look him over more closely. _Marvel got it kinda wrong,_ she thinks. He’s got blue skin and red eyes, and there are indeed ridges all over him -- yes,  ALL over him, including a certain portion of his anatomy which gives a new meaning to ‘ribbed for her pleasure’, and Star squirms against the ropes in delightful anticipation -- but the rest is not what she expected.

Not that she’d known what to expect. He’d said something about an ‘outer mantle’ of stone, but it really hadn’t made much sense to her. Though she’d seen Jotunns in the flesh when he’d brought her to Niflheim, somehow this is different, perhaps because she’s so accustomed to his Asgardian form. 

It’s still _him_ , the same lanky form with lean muscles, the same sharp angles in his face, even the shape of his prick is exactly the same . . . yet different. It’s like someone covered everything with plate mail, but with plates of roughened stone instead of metal, covering him from head-to-foot. His hair is the same, though he has no eyebrows.

“Huh,” Star muses out loud, curious. “How is your body structured, exactly? Is the stone just an outer coating, like natural armour - an exoskeleton, I guess? Or are you rock all the way through?” She tries to reach to touch the nearest part of him, his thigh, before remembering she’s tied up still. Star smiles up at him instead, though the stone plating and his blazing red eyes make it harder than usual to read his expression. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly, “I don’t mean to grill you. My inner xenobiologist is apparently _fascinated_.”

It’s a kinder reception than he was expecting, and Loki glances down, wondering what in the Nine Worlds could be so mesmerizing. As Ice Giants go he knows he’s shorter of stature, although everything else is up to size. He manages a shrug to cover his confusion. “My skin shifts as needed, acting as armor for my insides, which can be either hot or cold depending on my . . . needs.” He raises one hand and touches the runes along his chest and cheeks. “These denote my heritage--the Stone from which I have been cleft, so to speak.”

Star looks entranced, and Loki feels the heat within him rise at the glow of her eyes. She shifts a little, seemingly forgetting her nudity, and he tries not to smile. He impatiently shakes his hair back and leans over her, feeling the futon creak under his increased weight, and holds out his hand to her face so his pet can examine it more closely. “Neither soft nor warm.”

“We have a saying on Earth: cold hands, warm heart,” she quips as she gazes intently at his hand. His hand is not quite close enough to touch her but she can feel the chill coming off it, her breath misting around his fingers when she exhales.

Just as she predicted earlier, the cold is starting to affect her; she can feel gooseflesh rising all over her skin and her nipples stiffening as she shivers. But some of that is anticipation.

Loki seems uneasy still, so after a moment’s pause -- she has a vision of her tongue becoming stuck to him like a metal pole in winter -- she tilts her head and stretches her neck until her lips graze him, Star allowing the tip of her tongue to trace along his index finger. The texture is rough and colder than she expected, enough to numb her after mere seconds, and he tastes sandy. But his crimson gaze is locked on her face and from the corner of her eye she notices the weighty cylinder of his cock twitching. 

“I think you _feel_ that, my ice prince,” she teases after moving back. It’s an echo of something he said to her the first time he had her completely immobilized like this. She smirks even as she curls her tongue up inside her mouth, warming the tip.

“I do,” he admits, waggling his finger a moment later. Star’s tongue against his stoneflesh renews his lust, and Loki rises up on his knees to look down at her, letting her see him in the light of the paper lantern.

Something must please her because she gives a shivery sigh and smiles up at him, a smile of both acceptance and desire. Loki reaches for the cords that hold her knees up and pinches them between his thumbs and fingers, rubbing hard. Friction burns them through, and he helps her straighten out her legs before shifting himself between them, looming over her and smiling in return.

“Very well, my pet. If this is what you want, then you shall have me this way.”

He concentrates, trying to balance primal desire with control, and slowly his prick shifts slightly, the indigo lightening although the ridges stay. Loki glances down, amused at his own skill. Certainly Star will appreciate the shift even if it comes at a cost for him. Loki slips his hands under her ass and pulls her closer, angling himself between her thighs and smiles.

As chilled as she is, Star enjoys the icy grip of his hands on her ass, still hot and tender from his earlier spanking. She moans softly, rocking her hips towards him and licking her lips at the thought of how those ridges will feel.

Loki’s smile turns impish as he changes position slightly, Star gasping as the tip of his prick touches her, sliding coldly across her clit. Her whole body jerks at the contact, her over-sensitized nerves tingling. While not as frigid or rough-textured as his hands, his length is still cold against her.

His grin widens and he proceeds to stroke the length of his prick slowly up and down her sweet spot, little jolts of pleasure rocketing through her entire body every time one of those ridges _catches_ on her clit. “Oh . . . my . . . God . . .” she hisses at each spike of delight, her breath fogging in the flickering light of the lantern, though the heat rising inside her is pushing away her awareness of just how cold it is in the room now. 

The balance of power is still in Loki’s favour; her arms remain bound against her torso, and there is little she can do but groan and tilt her hips, her whole body shockingly near to orgasm once more. Of course Loki senses this just before she tips over the edge and he pulls back, his red eyes glinting down at her with lustful amusement.

“You’re a tease in any form, I see,” she growls in a mix of frustration, affection, and amusement. 

Loki manages a chuckle that sounds like rocks churning in water. “If I stop, then you appreciate it more when I start again, hmmm?” He shifts his hips, aware that his control needs to be perfect; that to capture the ultimate moment of pleasure will require both patience and timing. Under him, Star squirms, her look promising evil retribution, so he leans down and replaces her gag, letting his prick slide through her fur and over her belly as he does so. 

She squeals. He laughs again.

“You’re very warm,” Loki tells her with a little gloat and begins to rub against her bud again. Carefully he pushes into her, and alternates strokes over the top and then into her, letting the thick ridges slide against her searing walls as well as over her clit, and by the fourth set of thrusts, Star arches up, her lithe body clenching tightly to him. Loki stops moving and stays deep within her, letting the clench of her cleft surge around him.

It takes every ounce of concentration *not* to come.

When she sighs and loosens Loki slides free and takes himself in hand, desperate for release now. He lays one hand gently on her mound and uses the other to stroke himself, angling away from the futon. He’s rough with himself; almost savage, and within a minute Loki growls like thunder when the magma charges out of his cock, hissing as it splatters out, burning little holes on the floor, the glow of it bright and flame-red.

He looks at his pet, who looks slightly stunned. Loki takes in a deep breath and cocks his head, giving a little shrug. “Fire or ice,” he tells her. “That is the core of who I am. You were in no danger as long as I kept in control,” Loki reassures her. “And after so many peaks this evening, I had more than enough to be safe.”

Star’s eyes fixate on the smoking holes on the floor. It’s probably a good thing she’s still gagged, as she’s liable to say the wrong thing. She decides to close her eyes for a moment and remember instead how insanely intense and utterly _wonderful_ that had felt - the cold, those delicious ridges, how hard he had felt while pressing so deeply into her . . .

When she looks back at Loki again though, something else catches her eye. It takes her a second to be sure what she’s seeing in the dim light of the lantern, but then she’s certain; Loki’s stone hand is resting lightly on her stomach now, and she can see a half-moon shape of small irregularities along the side of it. _That’s where I bit him. He has the marks even in his Jotunn form._

Somehow this strikes her as significant, but she’s not sure exactly _how_ it’s significant. But Loki is leaning over her now so she turns her focus to him.

He smiles, and touches one of the cords. “Much as I adore the look of you in these, I fear for your circulation. Perhaps it is time to change ties.” So saying, Loki takes one of the frayed through ends and tugs it, pulling a few of the knots loose in the process. It doesn’t take long to unwrap his pet and very gently massage her limbs. He’s aware of how cool and rough his hands are, but she seems to appreciate the light touch as she stretches, flexing her toes and smiling at him.

Odd that she truly does not seem to mind his Jotunn form, however. Loki considers that this is simply one more proof that his pet is above all things honest with him, and that secretly pleases him more than he can say.

“We are now in a strange position,” he tells her. “I cannot shift until  midnight , which is within the hour, but I still owe you one more climax. What would you suggest, oh dearest of treasures?”

“Are you _kidding_ me? After a series of orgasms like that, you hardly _owe_ me anything,” she points out, smiling still. She realizes the bell is, oddly, still in her hand so she deliberately releases it, letting it roll musically along the mattress, both of them watching until its progress is stopped by a fold in the bedclothes.

“But I’m easy,” she continues, turning back to Loki with a little smirk. “Oral is always a popular choice, though I don’t know if the surface of your tongue would scrape me raw or not. Or there’s always my favourite sexual position. We did that already, though not with you in Jotunn-form. Or perhaps you’re feeling a little tired of doing everything, and you’d like me astride?”

He cocks his head, appearing to think very hard on the matter, and after a moment Star points out the obvious other route, accommodating partner that she is: “Of course, we could also wait til past  midnight , so you can shift back to your usual form. That would give us more options. As I recall you were the one who decided we had to be done by  midnight , but there’s no reason we can’t break that rule. Hell, I’d expect as much from the Trickster god. Nothing is set in stone,” she observes, smirking at her choice of words as she traces a fingertip along the runes on his chest. 

“This is, after all, about what _you_ want,” she reminds him, grinning. _Even if I suspect I’m the main beneficiary,_ she thinks. 

“So many options,” Loki muses, feeling flattered. He is slightly fatigued too, since with Star sensuality is generally a matter of feast when she is here and then famine when she is not, and certainly they’ve feasted well this evening. Although they could keep going, he feels it might become painful for his pet, particularly in his current form. He stretches out beside her and feels the futon groan a bit at the added density of his frame. “I like them all, particularly you astride, but I would prefer to wait for that after  midnight , when I needn’t take my pleasure outside of you.”

“Oh yeah, right. No problem . . . I always suspected you were hot stuff. I didn’t know just how _literal_ that was!” she quips, winking at him and rolling out of bed to go cleanse herself from the largest basin on the nightstand.

She peeks over her shoulder and his red eyes are tracking her every move. _Some things don’t change,_ Star smirks to herself, her back to him as she stretches. 

Still, something is niggling at her: The lying. He obviously hadn’t used up his third spell for the day, despite what he’d implied earlier. Also, given his uneasy initial reaction to her pegging him last time, she’s pretty sure he was lying about having done _that_ before. Or at least, about having enjoyed it.

This, despite promising he’d never lie to her.

Star carefully stretches her right quad, buying time to decide whether to confront him about his lies. Can she really expect any better from the supposed _God_ of Lies? At least she hasn’t caught him in a major lie. _Yet._

_ Still, aren’t you always telling your students in your Relationship class that complete and total honesty can actually be BAD for a relationship? That white lies aren’t a terrible thing? If you believe that -- and you  _ do _\-- why hold Loki to a higher standard, then? It’s a little unfair, isn’t it?_

Again, she reminds herself that his lies haven’t hurt her. Her mind made up she returns to the bed, shivering a little as the chill coming off him hits her bare flesh, which is still damp from her impromptu sponge-bath.

After a moment’s thought she wraps up in a sheet to warm herself as much as she can, before snuggling up to his side and resting her cheek on the broad, rough plate of his pectoral. She hears no recognizable heartbeat, but there’s a faint, rhythmic whooshing noise under her ear to replace it. Their physiologies are so very different; it’s almost impossible to believe he is able to cover all this up so convincingly with a mere illusion.

His hand rests on his chest -- the hand not attached to the arm that is wrapped around her shoulders -- and Star lays her own hand on top of it. “By the way,” she murmurs, “You’re wrong about the difference between ‘love’ and ‘lust’, at least when it comes to me. I’ve tried having sex-only relationships in the past, and I just . . . can’t. I either fall madly in love with the guy despite promising myself, and him, that I wouldn’t. Or I get totally bored with the sex because there’s no emotional connection, and I break things off. So believe me when I say that if it was just ‘lust’, I wouldn’t likely be here with you now.” She realizes her fingertips have been ever-so-slowly and unconsciously tracing over the bitemark on his hand, and she wills them to stop. 

“Mmmmm,” Loki murmurs, touched by her honesty. “That was very . . . forthcoming of you. I appreciate your candor. It’s a rare quality among both Asgardians and Midgardians. I too have lusted in my time, but finding consorts of lasting intimacy has been . . . difficult, for one reason or another. In the vernacular of your age, I have little faith in relationships, I suppose.”   
It’s a bit of an understatement, that. Loki knows his past is littered with promises unkept and entanglements untangled. Some were merely for practice, targeted on maids and warriors too foolish not to pique. A few though have left him with melancholy memories of what might have been. Much as Loki detests the Allfather, the loving marriage of Odin and Frigga has set a high bar in terms of standards.

After all, a worthy mate is a comfort, an extra weapon, another mind, a companion through good and evil. And through the centuries a prince might need such a companion. Crave one, even.

Star curls herself closer against him, despite the hard edges pressing into her through the sheet. _How ironic that the God of Lies appreciates my honesty._

“I’ve been there,” she says after a hesitant moment. “I think we’ve all had our share of bad relationships. It’s probably one of the universal constants, like death and taxes,” she smirks. She pauses again, feeling a spike of guilt because thinking about all her bad relationships only serves to remind her of her one _good_ one. With her husband.

It’s not perfect -- not even close, particularly in the bedroom, which she supposes is partially how she wound up here -- but in many ways he’s the best thing that ever happened to her.

_And I’m cheating on him._   

Shaking her head slightly, Star grimaces and forces that reminder away. It’s too late; she’s in it up to her neck now. But she doesn’t want the two men in her life, or her daughter, to pay for her choices. And regarding a certain god, she may not be totally certain that this thing with Loki is a _good_ thing, let alone a relationship, but it’s working so far in its own particular way, and she’s not about to second-guess her feelings towards him.

Wrapping her fingers tighter around his, despite the goosebumps this raises on her arm and hand, Star looks up into the craggy lines of his face. “I’d be happy to try to renew your faith in relationships,” she adds quietly.

Her words warm him, and Loki gives her a careful squeeze, making sure not to hurt her. “You have,” he tells her, adding, “we are unique, you and  I. Well-matched, as Mother would say. Rest a bit now.” 

He waits for her to drop off to sleep, his thoughts pouring through a myriad of plans, memories and ambitions all pleasantly jumbled now. It’s been ages since he allowed himself to stay in Jotunn form, and the simple pleasure of doing so without fear of upsetting Star adds to Loki’s relaxation. He prefers appearing Asgardian as a matter of course, but sometimes being true to one’s nature is a comfort too.

Idly he blows a smoke ring, and wonders what Maro may serve for the  midnight dinner.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Loki and Star do some ghost-busting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Marvel owns Loki. No wonder he’s so sexually-deprived. Damn you, Disney!
> 
>  
> 
> Banner made by **cincoflex**!

When Star wakes there’s warm soft skin under her again. She sighs, stretches, and smiles before looking up to meet Loki’s gaze.

“Good morning,” she purrs, reaching to stroke the smooth plane of his cheek. “Or rather, good evening?” she wonders aloud, casting a glance at the darkness outside in the garden.

“The latter,” he informs her with a mischievous smirk. “As you pointed out earlier, I am still _owed_ an orgasm from you.”

She snorts laughter and begins to run her hand down the middle of his chest . . .as if on cue, her stomach growls loudly. Star puts her hand to her face and giggles, cheeks reddening, but Loki’s smirk only widens as he rolls out of bed with a grace she wishes she possessed even a fraction of.

He pulls on his drawstring pants as he stalks over to the screen door, the silver plating on the walls from his earlier spell dissolving soundlessly into green sparkles, which shimmer and fade as Loki shoves the screen aside. “Mako!” he calls sharply.

Star yanks the sheets up to cover herself as the sound of slippers gets closer. Loki orders their meal be served in a low voice that sounds rather angry, before he snaps the screen closed in the attendant’s frightened face and turns back to Star.

She feels a little sorry for the woman; once again Loki is being a dick to the help. She wonders how to suggest change without raising Loki’s hackles. “If you’re not careful, you’ll scare poor Mako into a heart attack. Maybe you could consider being a _little_ nicer? I’m sure everyone will rush to obey you just as quickly. Hell, given how I’m sure it sucks to be a woman in this time period -- well, pretty much ANY time period, including my own, though to a lesser degree -- I’ll bet they’ll be falling over themselves to please you even more, if you terrify them a little less.”

Loki reaches for his robe and pulls it on shaking his head slightly. “This society is strange, my pet. They are very civilized on the surface, but underneath, there are layers of cruelty and evil. I came here in courtesy and was challenged by the former warlord, who considered me a beast because I was gaiijin; an outsider. And I am, to a degree they will never appreciate. They expect me to be strong because in their eyes I have earned the right to order them about. Mako and her sisters know I will never touch them, or beat them as their old master did, even with all my sternness, so they jump to my commands because they feel secure in doing so.”

Star nods slowly. She doesn’t _like_ it, but she supposes she can understand it. As long as he’s not hurting or torturing people, and not taking it upon himself to kill innocents, she decides it’s not worth riding him about. _I’d rather ride him in other_ ways, she thinks as she masks a smirk behind her hand.

He motions across the room to another screen, this one painted with a lovely landscape of the mountains on it. “There is a bath just beyond here, although the process is unusual. Will you join me in a soak?”

Bathing is definitely a pleasure here, Loki knows. Rinsing first is odd, but he’s gotten used to it, and the heat of the scented water is extremely soothing. The added pleasure is that it’s definitely an activity for two in this corner of Midgard, although he’s not sure he wants to share that with anyone but Star.

She looks wistfully towards the screen so he motions to her, sliding it open and glancing in for the little candle near the door. The warm air touches his face and Loki nods. “We have time enough, and I know we could both use it, my jewel.”

“OK,” she agrees. She’ll never turn down a hot soak.

Star reaches for her outer robe and wraps it loosely around herself as she climbs out of bed, just in case Mako comes back, then she trails after Loki.

The little room is dim, and combined with the warm steam and the floral scents, it’s very soothing. Loki motions for Star to slide the screen shut after them as he takes off his clothes again, and she follows his lead, though her eyes linger on his lean body.

She still can’t understand at all how, even with magic, he can not only look, but _feel_ so warm and soft (and human), when clearly his natural form is anything but. Surely it can’t be just illusion, but some kind of shape-shifting.

Loki, sharp-eyed as ever, notices her scrutiny and turns to her with a questioning gaze. “Nothing,” she says with a smile. “Just admiring your . . .assets.” She smirks openly this time.

He returns the smile and preens a bit. “Thank you,” comes his little reply, and he moves the heavy wooden lid off the furo. The tub is a large wooden tank, square in shape, and deep.

“Ah,” Loki shakes his head as she moves towards it. “First we wash and _then_ we bathe.” 

Carefully he takes some of the heated water and pours it over himself, scrubbing away sweat and other traces of fluids, making sure to rinse carefully as Star shoots him a confused look. He repeats the action and then fills the small pail, moving to rinse her off as well.

When they’re both clean, Loki steps in and holds a hand out for Star, then settles them into the tub, sitting. The water reaches him mid-chest, and is about neck-deep for her.

“In all my travels,” Loki begins, “The most interesting element of cultures on Midgard seem to center on bathing. Here, it’s an intimate ritual, with all sorts of rules to it, such as the pre-washing to preserve the cleanliness of the tub.”   
As he speaks, he slides a hand around Star’s waist, moving her closer in the heated water, savoring both the warmth and the companionship.

She lets him draw her against his chest, resting her head against his shoulder. “Oh darn. And here I was hoping things would get _dirty_ in here.” So saying, she strokes a hand down his chest and belly, following the thin dark trail of hair downwards until she can curl her fingers around him.

Loki makes a noise which is part laugh and part gasp, and Star presses herself tighter against him, slipping her legs around his thigh and grinding herself into him. 

“Rules, did you say?” she asks conversationally. “Such as?” Lightly, she trails fingertips down the veiny underside of his thickening cock and over the curve of his balls.

“Only quiet conversation and meditation are permitted in the bath,” Loki tells her lightly. “At least, in the public ones.”

Before she can pout, Loki gives a chuckle and looks around the little room, aware of the sweet cedar scent. “We are permitted to come and go as often as we please,” he continues, and rises up, “As long as we avail ourselves of the rituals.”

He rises, unfolding himself and reaches to pull Star up with him; she looks displeased but Loki picks her up and lifts her over the edge of the tub before he presses her back to the wall as his hands slide to cup her slick ass. “Now we are _out_ of the bath.”

She tries to say something but Loki kisses her words away, shifting her until his water-slickened prick slides wetly between their bodies. The stroke of it against her now tender flesh brings a moan and Loki chuckles deeply, rocking against her in the dim light.

It’s sweet to stroke against her, and when he angles his hips a moment later to slide into her cleft, the two of them groan at the same time. Loki feels her lips and teeth along his shoulder. Slick and wet; no resistance now. He settles in for deep, steady thrusts.

He’s driving the breath right out of her lungs. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she tries to steady herself against the mind-numbing tide of pleasure. _Wait, wait, there was something-_ “I thought . . . we . . . agreed that . . . I was . . . supposed to be . . . on top,” she whispers breathlessly between gulps for air.

Loki laughs huskily, thrusting hard once more before lifting her legs right off the floor. Star scrabbles to wind her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his ass. A second later they’re sitting on the floor just beyond the edge of the tub again, Loki’s feet in the water and Star in his lap, their bodies still deeply joined.

“That’s more like it,” she remarks with a winded snicker. “And we’re not even breaking the pool rules. Clever boy.”

He interrupts her with a kiss and a hard thrust up into her heat, so Star, never to be outdone if she can help it, grabs two fistfuls of his wet hair and devours his mouth, grinding hard against him as he groans, hands tight on her hips. She wouldn’t be surprised to find bruises later. 

When his dexterous hand snakes between them to fondle her slick nub she manages to snort “Ladies first? Such a gentleman,” about three seconds before her climax hits her, reduces her to shuddering, sweet blissfulness. 

Loki rides out her orgasm, feeling the ripple of Star’s pleasure along his cock, pleased to have kept his word. When she slumps a bit trying to catch her breath, he withdraws his stiff shaft from her and shifts so his pet is more comfortable. Now they are twice as steamy and in need of the water in the tub, certainly.

She smiles at him when she finally opens her eyes, and he lifts his chin, looking pleased. “A promise kept,” he tells her with a laugh in his voice.

Carefully they rinse each other off and climb back into the tub. He sees Star notice his prick, her brows drawing together, but he shakes his head. “I am fine; my true form emptied me and it will be a while until I regain seed.” Something he learned ages ago about himself, and a bit of an anomaly. Still, his erection is fading already in the warmth of the tub.

_ I guess Jotunns have extra-long refractory periods _ , Star thinks drowsily, ever the sex educator. 

She’s finding it difficult to stay awake. The water feels good, and Loki’s chest under her cheek and his arm looped around her feels _very_ good, and it’s still early morning (not to mention she graded at least twenty papers before Loki summoned her here).

_ Four orgasms,  _ she thinks dreamily as her thoughts drift aimlessly. _How insane is that? Four._

She’s not sure if she actually dozes or not, but she snaps back to full consciousness when Loki lifts her bodily out of the tub. “Come, let us dine,” he tells her.

Star wraps her kimono carelessly around herself again, Loki pulling on his trousers before summoning Mako once more. When the maid appears, bowing, Loki instructs her to have the meal served and to bring one of the best tokkuri and ochokos to serve the sake. He waits until she leaves to turn and look at Star, who is finger-combing her hair with relative success.

“You do eat fish, do you not?” he asks, rubbing a hand over his chin. It’s been a long time since he’s grown a beard but many of the warlords have them. Seeing her nod, he continues, “good. They have a unique way of serving it, and while it took some getting used to, I have come to enjoy it.”

Reaching for her he ties her robe closed and presses a quick kiss to her temple, then steps out through the doorway, making his way through the sleeping quarters and to the dining room. Mako and a few of the younger servants are putting the lacquered trays on the low table, setting things in elegant style in the light of the lanterns. Loki nods and waits as they put the final touches and withdraw, leaving the room.

The repast on the table makes his mouth water: the pink folded sashimi, the artistic rolls and elegant displays of rice and fish remind him how long it has been since he’s eaten. Loki listens for Star’s footsteps and when she enters, he waves a hand at the table, hoping the sight pleases her as much as it does him.

“Sushi? Oh my God, you ARE a mind-reader!” she marvels. Wasn’t it just yesterday that she was mourning the fact she hasn’t had sushi in months? She explains as much when he looks at her with puzzlement.

Not only is it sushi, it is _excellent_ sushi. If she wasn’t so hungry, she’d be a little embarrassed at how quickly she’s putting it away.

Though the real problem, she realizes too late, is the sake. No, that’s wrong -- the sake is perfect -- the problem is, she’s a lightweight. She could hold her liquor in graduate school (thank God for drug tolerance) but after abstaining from drinking for the length of her pregnancy and for over two years of breast-feeding has left her in a situation where one glass of wine leaves her tipsy.

So after three cups of sake, tiny as they are, she is both giggly and drowsy, leaning against Loki as she complains in slurred tones about her students and their attitudes towards their work.

“. . . it just, bog . . .boggles me. I mean, if they don’t want to WORK, hey, it’s not my Gee. . .G.P.A. But then they act as if the fact they don’t know how to follow instro. . . in . . . ins . . . _instructions_ , is somehow **MY** fault!” she exclaims sadly, nearly spilling the contents of a fourth cup of sake as she tries to drink and yawn at the same time.

Loki takes the little ochoko from her and drains it, then sets it down. “Perhaps you were meant for _more_ than mere instruction, my pet. You have the bearing of a queen, and it saddens me to see it wasted on cretinous morons when you could be ruling at my side.”

She laughs at this, and he smiles with her, aware that his words haven’t sunk in and might not, given how much she’s had to drink.

But there is a seed of truth in it, and Loki is glad she is here. He too, feels the need to sleep so he carries her back to the bedroom and lays her on the newly cleaned futon, then stretches out beside her after blowing out the lantern.

Right before he drifts off, lulled by the satiation of lust and the repast, Loki hears a distant unearthly howl rising through the night, and smiles to himself as his pet clings to him in her sleep.

* * *

Star’s head is _pounding_ , and the morning light from the garden is stabbing into her eyes like tiny pins. She groans and rolls over to escape the glare, coming face-to-chin with a smirking Loki.

Try as she might, she can’t remember clearly anything that happened around their very late-night meal. She remembers sushi, and sake (too much, oh gods), and some disconnected ranting about instructions and students, and had there been something about . . . _queens_?

Loki’s smirk widens knowingly, and at the sight of it, Star groans louder and turns, burrowing her face into the pillow to hide the redness of her face.

“How badly did I embarrass myself last night?” she asks, in a voice both reluctant and muffled.

“Hardly at all,” Loki tells her, “although you will have to decide for yourself if I am lying.” He reaches over and runs a finger across her forehead, drawing away all her pain. It’s a splinter of magic, a mere subset of a spell and from the relief on his pet’s face, clearly appreciated. “We have much to do today, my treasure. This morning we officiate over the minor squabbles of the minions and rule on them, and then this afternoon we ride to the  Sea of  Trees .”

He rises and dresses, this time in house robes of dark grey with embroidered green dragons climbing down both shoulders. Loki pulls his hair back into a ponytail and ties it off with a strand of silk, wishing there was a mirror in the room. On the futon, Star is slowly beginning to rise, looking much more relieved than she did a moment ago. Loki reaches for one of the carved combs and moves behind her, working a few knots out of her hair as she slips into the under-robe of the kimono.

“You may wear your hair down if you wish,” he tells her lightly, “But as my lady and mistress of this stronghold, it would be wise to have some ornamentation such as this.” Loki hands her a silver prong kanzashi with a green dragon composed entirely of emeralds on the end of it.

Her surprised sigh is gratifying, and Loki squeezes her shoulders, feeling pleased. Not only has the night been a pleasure and joy, but the day before them seems equally as promising.

Each emerald is easily four times the size of the tiny diamond on her engagement ring at home. _It’s probably a damned good thing that I got out of the habit of wearing rings after A.J. was born, because something tells me Loki wouldn’t respond well to seeing them on my finger._

But Loki is waiting, and although she can tell he likes the notion of her hair down, there is no way she’s leaving this room with her current case of terminal bed-head. She thanks him for the comb and twists her hair back and up, securing it as best she can without a reflective surface to work on.

Loki offers her a new kimono, one of emerald green and embroidered in dragons. She still has no clue how to tie the sash, so she lets Loki help her with that. Then she bites her lip nervously. It’s one thing to ‘entertain’ Loki privately in their rooms, but quite another to sit at his side while he plays at kingship. 

Yet another instance where she is way _way_ outside her comfort zone. _Just follow Loki’s lead,_ she decides. Still, she can’t help saying to him: “I’ll try not to embarrass you while you’re going about your official business but . . . I make no guarantees.” She tries to smile and turn it into a joke, but doesn’t feel all that successful. 

Loki gives a small nod. “There are no guarantees in _anything_ , my pet. But we will do what we can to dispense justice. You may even find some interest in it.”

* * *

Three hours later, Loki waves the last case forward, feeling relief to be nearly done with the cases before them. In their morning he and Star have settled the ownership of a stray water buffalo, decided the price of a ruined rice crop and given equal consideration to dowries, property disputes and accusations of theft. It’s been more interesting than usual, and Loki enjoys the way the villagers take his rulings as law, with very little protest. To be fair he does try to be quick, but consulting with his pet is incredibly helpful.

For example, her consideration of each dowry is far more insightful than his, as is her prediction of how well-suited the couple is. She also makes good points about personal grudges permeating many of the disputes, and offers excellent suggestions under her breath.

And she looks amazingly regal next to him. Clearly the minions of the castle have accepted her as his lady both in word and deed. 

Star waits until they are alone in their rooms once more, sitting down to a well-deserved  noon meal of miso noodle soup. _I didn’t botch that too badly, if I do say so myself,_ she thinks. The whole thing had rather reminded her of when she’d last practiced psychotherapy, not that she’s done that in over a decade. But listening to not just the problem, but for the underlying issues as well, that seems common to both situations.

It had been a pleasant surprise for Loki to include her in the process. She hadn’t really expected to be called upon to do more than sit there and look pretty, and so to have Loki apparently value her opinions and judgment . . . well, she hadn’t expected that at all. For all that he still calls her a ‘pet’, clearly he seems to think of her as much more than that. 

And it’s a damned good thing too, considering she loves him.

“So, you said something about us going to see a place called the ‘Sea of Trees’ this afternoon?” she prompts him, trying not to struggle too obviously with the long noodles. 

“Yes,” he replies, watching her efforts and effortlessly managing his own lunch. Part of it is natural dexterity of course, and the other part is having practiced it for a while now. He continues, “The forest is haunted, and none of the locals will go near it, so we will ride without retainers. I have a theory about what may be there, and it will not be for the faint of heart.”

“Wait a second, are you talking about that ‘forest of pure evil’ you mentioned yesterday?” At his nod, Star’s eyes widen. Yes, he’s a god and all, and yes he could probably protect her with next to no effort, but she’s not generally someone who is comfortable around the ‘unknown’, and now he’s expecting her to just follow him blindly into possible danger?

But she doesn’t want to come off like a coward, either. _At least he won’t be naked, muzzled, and chained up this time!_

“Um, OK. But if you expect me to come along, I think I’ll need my jeans back at the very least. There’s no way I’m pushing through the undergrowth in this little bit of nothing, pretty as it is,” she explains, motioning to her kimono. 

There’s also the fact that in her jeans pocket is the Snakkestein. She’s gotten into the habit of keeping it on her most of the time, since she never knows when Loki will summon her . . . nor when she might need Thor to save her from one of Loki’s schemes! She’s just lucky it’s roughly the size of a marble and therefore easy to hide in the same pocket she keeps her jam-packed key-ring in.

Loki frowns for a moment, then nods. “As you wish. I  promised to go and see what lurks there and it will probably be better if you are more . . . mobile.” He knows it’s the smart thing to do, although his pet looks lovely in her robes. Finishing up the noodles, Loki adds, “Do you wish a weapon for yourself? Oh, and can you ride?”

Star has to stop herself from laughing. Her, use a _weapon_? She has absolutely zero experience in that area, and no relevant training of any kind beyond a couple years of kickboxing classes. Which are sadly from a time when she was ten years younger and at least five pounds lighter.

“A weapon is probably a good idea. Maybe a knife? Although I fear the only situation in which I’ll be able to use it with any skill, is if whatever’s in the forest wants me to cook dinner for it!” She shakes her head sadly. Then again, how much skill does it take to stab something? Very little, she hopes. 

“And I’ve been on a horse a grand total of maybe three times in my life, all of them in my childhood. No wait, do pony-rides count? Eh, make that once.” Loki’s expression makes her want to laugh again. Yet more proof they come from completely different worlds . . . 

“Now, if you want me to distract the thing with erotic stories while you sneak up behind it with a knife or fireball, I’m definitely your girl,” she can’t resist joking.

He can’t help but snicker a bit. “This is a culture that respects storytellers, or so I have found, but I doubt what we shall find there would appreciate your tales and talents, my jewel. However, I think a spell of protection would be to our benefit before we head out. Aokigahara holds danger, and I mean to learn its nature if I can. I can have you ride with me if you’d prefer,” Loki offers, setting down his chopsticks and rising up from the low table. He produces knives from the sleeves of his padded armor, juggling them playfully in front of Star.

It’s a good little distraction, but he finally catches them all and re-sheathes them as he considers the afternoon. The nagging suspicion remains that what lurks in the forest is alien to Midgard, and growing more dangerous to anyone nearby. This trip will be his chance to check, and show his pet that he does have the capacity to do more than brag about his ability to rule.

Loki holds out a hand to help her rise, and kisses it, lips lingering on the back of her fingers.

She can’t help smiling at him, even if she’s nervous about what could be waiting in the forest for them. After all, if Norse gods exist, what else out there could be real? Vampires, ghosts, demons? _And I’ve already personally seen a werewolf,_ she reminds herself. 

“I’d be happy to ride with you. Better have some of that Notyr ready for afterwards, though. If my memory serves, every time I went riding, I was walking bow-legged for at least a week after!” 

Loki chuckles and nods.

It doesn’t take Star long to change back into her street clothes, and Loki wordlessly gives her a little knife, and a sheath on a thin belt to thread through the loops of her jeans. He’s back in his usual leathers as well, and the stable-boys glance surreptitiously at them as they fetch Loki’s horse, but whether it’s their strange attire or their mission that has Loki’s staff on edge, Star hesitates to guess. 

The horse is a good one; a huge bay with mild manners. Loki hoists Star up before him and settles her in, his arms around her. “It won’t be far,” he whispers, and urges the bay on, taking the dirt road that leads through the gates and down into the valley.

The afternoon is mild, and with the breezy sunshine makes the ride pleasant. Having his arms around his pet adds to that, and Loki likes the way she presses back against him, their bodies absorbing the gait of the horse under them. They pass no-one on the road, and when it turns towards the distant rise of trees, Loki feels a tension in the air. He leans forward to whisper in Star’s ear. “The  Sea of  Trees . The minions tell stories about it--dark legends--and claim it is haunted. I doubt that it is, or rather, I suspect something lives there, but not a yurei.”

She turns to look at him and he speaks again. “Something _not_ of Midgard, that is.”

“Something alien,” Star clarifies, and he nods.

“Very probably. Since the beings around the castle are my responsibility . . . “ He lets the words trail off because the look she’s giving him is so odd.

Star blinks, not knowing what to say to that. She settles for humour. “Loki of Jotunheim as a Colonial Marine? I can dig that.” Understandably he looks puzzled, and she mentally adds ‘Aliens’ to the pile of movies she should probably show him at some point. 

Within minutes they are at the edge of the forest. Just as they are about to cross into the tree-line, their horse lays back its ears and balks, sidling sideways. Star nearly falls off but she clutches onto its mane for dear life as Loki calms the animal.

“Time for my protection spell,” he murmurs, his breath falling on the top of her head, warming her. He shifts the reins to one hand as he motions with the other, and sparkles of pale green and silver swirl around her and Loki and the horse. Star is nearly blinded by them, before they touch her skin and sink in with a mild tickling sensation. 

Loki urges the horse forward and it trots forward without hesitation this time, the trees closing in around them.

They aren’t more than a few lengths in when Star first notices the _chill_. Except not. It’s not the temperature of the air, but more of a coldness in her mind. _Something is definitely wrong here,_ she thinks. There are no birds singing, little sunlight except for some strangely grey shafts of light stabbing down through the thick canopy above them, no movement except the wind in the trees. 

But even that is wrong somehow. The rustles of the leaves sound odd to her ear, more like whispered words that she feels she could make out, could understand if she strains hard enough-

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Star mutters in dismay, one hand coming to her mouth and the other dropping to the hilt of her knife as Loki reins the bay to a stop. A few meters ahead of them, a corpse hangs from a tree branch right across their path. 

Mercifully she can’t see the man’s - she thinks it’s a man, anyway - face, just the half-rotten remains of the top of his head, but she’s close enough to make out the noose that he’s dangling from, and the noise of the flies clustering around it. _A suicide? A murder?_

_ What the hell am I doing here? Why would Loki think it was even a remotely good idea to bring me here? _

That’s when she spots, further into the ominously quiet forest, another pair of hanging legs. A second corpse, twisting slightly with the breeze.

The buzzing of the flies seems to ring in her ears, mingling with the strange whispering of the leaves. 

_ He brought me here to kill me. Nobody will question it. His ‘minions’ won’t know or care what happened, and my family back home, the ones I am  _ betraying _, they’ll never know what happened to me. I disappeared from my work one day, and I never came back. He doesn’t love me, and he brought me here to cut off a loose end he doesn’t want-_

Loki’s hand closes so tightly on her wrist that Star flinches. That’s when she realizes the knife is in her hand, the point inches from her own throat. Her arm trembles but Loki calmly peels her fingers gently back from the hilt and removes the knife from her grasp. 

“The miasma,” he murmurs, “it affects minds. I suspected it would.” He re-sheathes the knife into the sleeve on her belt and moves to dismount, sliding off the horse easily and leaving his pet there. “Wait here.”

Loki takes a deep breath and does a slow gaze around the dim and silent forest, drinking in the dank, foreboding atmosphere. The sense of distortion seems . . . familiar, and he thinks back through the centuries to see if memory brings forth the match. He lets his gaze rest on the remains of one unfortunate, and the leer of the exposed skull sparks an image.

“Draugr,” Loki murmurs even as he smiles back at the corpse. “Of course. You have eaten all the creatures here and now entice the Midgardians into your lair with your snare laid for the senses.”

He turns to Star just in time to see the knife sailing towards his face.

Loki swats the dagger from the air with a fluid motion that Star completely envies, as she begins to look frantically around trying to spot their attacker. Until she realizes her arm is outstretched and her knife sheath empty.

_ She’s _ the one who threw it. Horror overwhelms her, turning her blood to ice as Loki steps towards her, the bay shifting uneasily under her weight. 

_ He’ll kill me for that,  _ says a high buzzing voice that is-but-isn’t-hers inside her mind. _That’s why he brought me here. Kill me and leave me strung up by the neck._ She can almost feel his hands around her throat again, cutting off her air. She grabs the reins in sweat-slicked palms and kicks her heels into the horse’s side, trying to get it to bolt before Loki can get to her. She has to get away, _now_ , panic driving her even as a distant, tiny part of her mind realizes the bay is facing the wrong way and screams _No! I don’t want to go any deeper into this terrible place!_

Loki lays a hand on the horse’s flank and springs, swinging himself up behind Star in a graceful mount. He feels her relax the moment his body presses against hers, dispelling the influence radiating all around them. He damns himself for not understanding how powerful the Draugr’s influence would be, particularly for Midgardians. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around his pet.

“Shhhhh, you are safe, my love,” he assures her, letting her shudders die down against him. Simple contact is helping, and Loki urges the bay around, back the way they came.

Once out of the tree-line, he feels the miasma lessen around their protective spell; even the horse seems calmer to be away from the dim shadows. Loki leans into Star again and whispers in her ear. “The Draugr preys first on the mind and then on the body, luring her victims in to feast on their fear before devouring their sanity. I did not know what it was until we were here, and now that I do, _you_ will _not_ return into Aokigahara, my jewel.”

His arms tighten around Star, and Loki vows to keep her safe.

Star wraps her arms over his, squeezing tightly though she bites her lip at her conflicting feelings. Part of her is glad he obviously wants to handle this on his own, but the other part isn’t looking forward to waiting and wondering whether he’ll be OK. 

She wonders whether he will he send her back to her own time, leaving her to worry about the outcome here? Then she remembers that the Snakkestein can reassure her that he’s safe, if she risks using it. But if he’s not? She can only imagine that knowing he is, while being able to do nothing about it, will only make things worse. 

Or she supposes he might choose to leave her at his new ‘home’, among strangers who might take advantage of their Lord’s absence. None of the options appeal to her.

She takes a deep breath. “Not so fast, Loki. Maybe now that you know what it is, you can create a more targeted protection spell for us? How powerful is this thing, anyway?” Cowardice wars with her desire to help, to make sure he’ll come out of this in one piece. Her hand twitches towards the Snakkestein. It was bad enough in Niflheim knowing he was probably being tortured; she’s not sure she can go through that again.

“Now that I know what it is, I can create the weapon to defeat it,” he tells her thoughtfully. “The monster is cowardly, and destroying it will give peace to those who live here. Although . . .” Loki trails off, realizing an unpleasant truth: he will need a lure to draw the Draugr out.

A Midgardian lure.

His pet turns to look at him, her eyes studying his face, and Loki purses his lips. Under them the horse shifts, clearly wanting to be away from the tree-line, but too well-trained to move without directions. Loki thinks of the minions at the castle, of all who have sworn loyalty to him. There are several who would agree to be the lure, particularly among the warriors, but where he once would have ordered it, now he hesitates.

He  . . . admires these Midgardians. They are proud and strong; devoted to honor and worthy of respect. Loki has only been their lord for a few months but they have served him well, and he’s loathe to put any of them at risk.

Star looks beautifully impatient, her steady gaze reading him.

He’s too quiet, and studying her too closely. “You want to use me as bait, don’t you?” Again, part of her quails, an icy sensation creeping up her spine.   
_ Oh yeah, he must _ really _love you, to immediately think of putting your life on the line._

I’m _ the one who turned down the free pass,  _ she reminds herself. At least this way, she supposes she won’t have to wonder if he’s OK; she’ll have a front-row seat.

_ What about your family? Don’t they get a vote? _

Star grits her teeth. Every option here sucks. “Before I agree, please PLEASE tell me you have a reliable way to kill this thing.”

“NO!” Loki hisses, cold fury and fear making his voice hard. “By the Gods, absolutely not! I _forbid_ it! Put such madness out of your thoughts at _once,_ beloved! No, there are others who will volunteer out of honor!” He tightens his arms around her, trying to control himself. Loki takes a calming breath and urges the horse forward, away from the forest. “You are precious to me, and to those we do not speak of, Star and I have made a sacred promise to _keep you from harm_. No, if a lure is needed it will _not_ be you.”

The horse takes them back to the road before either of them speak again.

His arms are still tight around her, but Star doesn’t mind. She’s a little ashamed to realize how relieved she is that she misread him, but she’s not keen on him putting anybody else’s life on the line, either. “OK, so what’s the plan? Can you use illusion to draw this thing out?” She wants to ask if the Draugr can harm Loki in any way, but she’s not sure she wants to know the answer to that, in case it’s a yes.

“I doubt an illusion will work against a monster that can read the fears of Midgardians,” Loki sighs. “Part of what makes the Draugr strong is her ability to bend the will, as you have seen. I can defeat her, but not by a headlong attack. She must be distracted, and to that end I need to find the right plan.”

The further they ride from the woods the better Loki feels, and it’s clear his pet does as well. When they pass through the gates of the castle, Loki dismounts and helps Star down, giving her a quick smile.

“Strategy. Come, let us study the map and see if there is any advantage to the lay of the land.”

Half an hour later they are around the low table again, back in period clothes and with fragrant steaming tea and an unscrolled map in front of them. Loki sits cross-legged, with his pet on his lap as they both study the heavy page. The slight weight of her feels wonderful--soothing and right--and Loki enjoys having her against him. 

“A draugr feels on souls, and enters the minds of her victims,” he tells Star. “She makes them end their lives so she may feed. To defeat her, I must cut her head off with enchanted iron and either drop it in the deep sea or perhaps up in the fiery mountain that rises above the forest. Since I am Jotunn, _my_ soul holds only stone, and is of no use to her,” Loki adds, seeing the question in his pet’s eyes.

“Not _only_ stone,” she counters, smiling as she places a hand atop the one he has resting on her knee. It’s both strange and comforting to witness his protectiveness. Not that he hasn’t been protective before, but somehow there seems to be a new urgency to it lately.

“I presume one of your daggers would do as the ‘enchanted iron’?” At his nod, she continues, “then it’s just the distraction you’d need.”

After a few seconds a new idea occurs to her, and she chews her lip as she considers it. Although Loki is being very flattering, acting like she’s some kind of master strategist on the same level as him, she begs to differ!

“Now here’s a crazy idea,” she says at last, “this thing might be able to scare one human into slicing themselves into cold cuts for her lunch, but I wonder if she might be completely distracted and overwhelmed if we send in . . .an entire army? She’d have to be pretty powerful to simultaneously scare oh, thirty or forty people to death, right?”

Loki nods slowly, considering her words. “That is a possibility. She is used to dealing with a single soul or a pair at a time, so more than that might lure her forth and occupy her long enough for me to strike.” He runs a finger along the map where the tree-line bulges out. “Here, perhaps, so that no-one can be trapped by her . . . risky, but it may be the tactic we need. It also hangs on whether I can convince the warriors to follow me. Unlike Thor, I’m not as practiced at rallying and leading,” Loki admits.

From what he knows of this particular culture, they fear ghosts and demons more than most, and while Loki has used that to his advantage so far, this may be a difficult turn this time. He takes a moment to nuzzle Star in sweet distraction, waiting to hear her thoughts.

“I don’t know as much about this culture as I would like,” she admits, “but if they’re so hung up on honour and bravery, appealing to those might be the way to get them to agree. Also, safety in numbers. If one of them starts to go nuts, the people around can help after all. I guess?” She shrugs, feeling way out of her element as usual.

She supposes Loki will insist that she stays here, and once again the thought of being forced to sit around and wring her hands while waiting to see if everything turns out alright is not really to her taste.

That’s when the craziest idea of all occurs to her. 

“I’d like to come along,” she says firmly, hoping to forestall another angry outburst, “If only to make sure you come out of this OK. I understand the risks, but I just had a thought -- you said because you’re Jotunn, the Draugr can’t affect you. Well, we both know you can make me change form, so what if you made _me_ temporarily Jotunn? If she can’t affect me, I could help too. And you can tell your warriors that you summoned a . . . I don’t know, a ‘stone golem’ to help defend them or something. Think of the street cred that’ll get you!” she finishes with a little joke, hoping he’s not about to pop a vein in outrage.

Loki shoots her a startled look. “Having seen and felt the form up-close, you would _willingly_ choose to take it?” he asks, surprise in his tone. This offer of hers is not only unexpected, but . . . touching. He knows he’s hardly a sentimental being, but Star’s suggestion gives him a pang deep within, a tiny surge of desperate emotion.

She turns and meets his gaze squarely, her expression both wry and honest, and Loki laughs because it is so very much the essence of ‘duh!’ He dives in for a quick kiss, lingering once he touches her mouth, and whispering as he pulls away. “You never fail to astonish me, queen of my heart. Yes, I suppose I could use a spell to make you Jotunn, but keep in mind that you would have to hold the form until  midnight of the next day. And I may have trouble concentrating on the battle instead of on you.”

“Well,” she says with a little smirk, “I don’t think being stuck that way til  midnight will be a problem. After our victory, I’m sure we can find a way to -- how shall I put it? -- pass the time?” He’s smirking now too, emboldening her further. “As for the other problem, well . . . just don’t make me into too _hot_ a Jotunn, then.”

Loki laughs again, loudly, and she joins him. “Seriously, though,” she observes, “It’s probably safest for me that way. As a being of stone, even if this thing’s magic can affect me at all, at least I won’t be able to harm myself that easily. Or as easily as I can in my usual form,” she says, swallowing hard at the unpleasant memory of her knife in her white-knuckled hand, pointed back at her own throat. 

“Assuming it works, of course,” she adds. She remembers now what he said about his soul being made of stone, or something like that, and that this is why the Draugr can’t affect him. This begs the question of how a shape-change of her body could possibly change her _soul_ too, but that’s a spiritual discussion more suited to a later time. 

“Should we wait until tomorrow morning either way?” she asks him. “You’ve already used your magic twice today. Getting rid of my hangover, plus that protection spell. It might be better until you’ve recharged and all, in case things go sideways.” _Thanks again, Odin! Not._

“Curing your head took but a splinter of magic,” Loki points out, but nods. “Very well. I will speak to the warriors and give them their orders for tomorrow. And if I am to make you Jotunn, then there are certain . . . preparations that will help you be more comfortable in a body of stone. None are painful,” he assures Star mildly. “Simply exercises to assist.”

She looks at him uneasily, but rises from his lap and smoothes her kimono, giving him a nod, and then turns to the sliding screen that leads to the garden, stepping outside. Loki lets her go, knowing that his pet probably needs time to center herself after their harrowing trip to the forest. He himself is unsettled as well. Not because of her attacks, which would never have harmed him, but because of the way the Draugr nearly made his pet kill herself.

_ That _ is the unforgivable trespass, and Loki intends to make the monster pay dearly for it.

Rising himself, he pulls open the opposite screen and calls for Mako, giving her a look less stern than his usual ones. “Tell the watchmen to assemble in the hall within the hour where I will speak to them about tomorrow. Lady Sigyn and I will dine alone this evening, and require a fire pot. Give everyone under me their fill of rice and two of whatever they prefer to drink.”

The little maid bows, impressed with this generosity but too well-mannered to comment on it. She moves to leave, but Loki calls her back for a moment, and adds, “And flowers for the chamber. Whatever is in season.”

Cool wind flicks at the ends of Star’s hair as she wanders around the garden, though she barely sees the lush vegetation. _What the fuck am I doing?_ she has to ask herself. She’d come _thisclose_ to nearly plunging a knife into her own neck, and now she’s keen to go back again? Sure, she’s watched pretty much every horror movie ever made, thanks to a boyfriend in college who was a horror movie buff, but that sure hadn’t prepared her for the real thing.

_ How many movies have you seen where you poked fun at the stupid characters, going to ‘see what that weird noise was’, and now you’re basically doing exactly the same thing?  _

Maybe turning Jotunn will protect her, but . . .’preparations’? She’s not sure she likes the sound of that. 

But it’s probably better than being forced to sit on the sidelines and fret.    
She sits at the edge of the koi pond, looking out across the darkening garden, until some time later the screen slides aside again and Loki’s slender shadow falls across her.

He stands with his arms crossed behind the small of his back, ramrod straight and still as he speaks. “The warriors have been told what to do and what to expect. They are brave, for Midgardians. I am . . . honored to lead them.” Loki looks to Star as he walks towards her, his gaze softening. “And what of you, my jewel? Second thoughts? What needs to be done can be done with little risk to you. You might even dispose of the Draugr before _I_ do.”

The look she gives him makes Loki laugh, and he squats, reaching to lift her chin and gaze into her eyes. “Lovely one, have you ever tussled with a puppy? That will be you against her. She frightens the Midgardian mice, but against your armor of rock she will be powerless, and once we have defeated her, the musicians will write ballads to your graceful fearlessness as the Lady of Blue Stone.”

The thought of seeing his pet has been preoccupying him, and Loki cocks his head, smiling. “And you _shall_ be lovely, of that I am sure. To perform the charm however, I will need you to bathe, and then coat you with the dust of enchanted stone and gems. If we cast the spell before  midnight , then you will have time to adjust to the heavier weight and height. What say you?”

Star takes a deep breath, trying to still the panicked fluttering in her belly. “I say yes,” she replies, pleased her voice isn’t shaking that much.

It’s not as bad as she fears. First is another delicious meal, the room filled with the scent of the blossoms placed strategically around the room by the attendants.

Then, as Loki ordered, comes the bathing. He takes it upon himself to rinse and wash her, rubbing the soap all over her while she wriggles in breathless delight, and then he rinses her again before they both take a long soak in the deep tub. He resists any efforts on her part to return the favour, which is both amusing and frustrating to her. Maybe he’s saving his strength for his spell-casting and the battle to come, she reasons.

She’s nearly limp with contentment when Loki finally urges her out of the water. He wraps her in a towel and leads her out into the bedroom, her skin still damp and warm from the bath. 

He goes over to the fire pot in the corner of the room, while Star looks on curiously. At least she feels too relaxed to be all that nervous. Loki passes a hand over the flames and gives a nod before reaching his free hand into an inner pocket and pulling out a small pouch.

Beckoning his pet over, he opens the little leather pocket and pulls out a pinch of sand. At least it appears to be sand, but in the firelight it glitters more like gems, and lifting it high, Loki gazes at the delicate grains. “This dust is suffused with what you would call magic, Sweet One. It will mesh with your flesh painlessly, perfectly, to make you Jotunn. I only need apply it to certain points along your body and activate it to make you what I am . . . if only for a while. My magic is great but not permanent. Are you still willing?”

She nods, uncertainly at first and then with greater surety, and Loki smiles. He gestures for her to set the towel down and stand before him, nude. 

He takes the pinch of blue glitter and presses it to each of her fingertips, then the crooks of her elbows and along her deep collarbones. Playfully Loki dips for more dust and draws sigils along her ribs--lightly--and presses thumbprints on the flare of her hipbones, her knees and ankles, kneeling before her to do so. Rising again, he slides his thumbs up her cheekbones, leaving faint blue streaks up each. His pet says nothing, watching and waiting, her eyes large as Loki cups her face and bends to kiss her.

Pulling back, he smiles, and reaches under his robe once again, pulling out his frost dagger. Fearlessly, he slides the blade up the underside of his right index finger, Star gasps, but he moves and presses his blood against every smudge of blue dust on her body. Where it touches, it sinks in, and the mingled colors slide over her skin, coating and armoring her in bright blue stone.

Star’s knees unhinge as blue light fills her eyes and dizziness overwhelms her. She squeezes her lids shut as the room spins and nausea spikes in her stomach. It feels as though all of her blood has been replaced by ice water. She waits for the room to stop tilting, clutching double handfuls of Loki’s robe.

When the shakiness subsides she opens her eyes cautiously, meeting Loki’s gaze directly. More directly than usual, in fact, because their faces are now on the same level. She expected to wind up taller than before - Ice _Giants_ , right? - but it still throws her for a loop.

“How are you feeling, my jewel?” Loki asks, and Star’s voice sounds odd when she answers truthfully with: “Weird.”

She tries to step away from him in search of a mirror, but her legs don’t obey as quickly or smoothly as she expects and she falls, barely catching herself with her hands. It’s like the heaviness one feels in their limbs just as they climb out of a deep pool, except her body isn’t compensating. It’s as if she’s forgotten how to walk.

Loki kneels beside her, and Star can’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, though the grinding note of her voice only increases her disorientation. “Oh yeah, I’m really kicking the Draugr’s ass like this. Maybe if she’s lying down I can crawl over and _sit_ on her,” she snorts. “The bards can compose arias to ‘The Blue Lady’s Bum of Death’, or something.”

“Give yourself a little time as the transformation completes,” Loki murmurs, reaching a hand to stroke her shoulder. He tries to sound soothing and matter-of-fact, but seeing Star this way does something desperate and hot within him. Her turquoise skin and incised patterns make him slightly breathless, and he realizes how aroused he’s rapidly becoming. Rising, Loki takes her hand to help her up, studying her lithe form anew, as he licks his lips.

“You are stone, but fluid; think of polished pebbles cascading in every move,” comes his husky tone. “Right now you have the strength to kill me with a single blow of your hand, my jewel. You could lift any horse in the stable with one arm. Arrows will bounce off of your skin, and only an enchanted blade could pierce you. And you ARE beautiful.”

Loki brings her a mirror and holds it up so his pet can see herself in the polished bronze surface, his gaze bright and intense upon her.

Taking the mirror carefully from his hand - if she’s _that_ strong, she doesn’t want to bend it accidentally - Star angles it until she can see her face. It’s so peculiar, how the face in the reflection is hers, but not. Her eyes are no longer green but blood-red, her face shaped the same but covered in plates of blue stone. A quick turn of the mirror and she can see the rest of herself, still obviously female but again, covered with plates of stone, though they seem smaller and more delicate than those she remembers seeing covering Loki’s body.

_ My hair is still the same though, _ she notices with amusement as she turns the mirror upward again. The usual bed-head.

What’s even stranger is that she doesn’t feel particularly hot or cold, just heavy and slow. She leans closer to the metal, studying the runes on her face and neck, then turning the mirror once more to examine the runes on her ribs.    
She turns to Loki, smiling a little at his obvious _interest_. Of course he would have a kink for Jotunns, being one himself. “What do these mean?” she asks, indicating one of the runes on her forehead. “Yours indicate your lineage, if I remember correctly, but I don’t exactly have Jotunn relatives. That I know of, anyway!”

He speaks, his tone amused and respectful. “The stone has caught your nature and revealed it for anyone to read. They say ‘brave beauty’ and “‘wise goddess.”’ Loki cannot resist the temptation to touch, and reaches a hand out to let cool fingers slide on the runes that run under her breasts. “Others are more or less indications of your strength and nature. This one says  . . . ‘quick to anger’ and this one . . .” he lets his fingers tease a bit, and glides his touch up to her pebbled nipple, “ruled by passion.”

Star’s skin is cool to his touch, and he lets his hand linger, watching to see how she reacts.

She smirks, looking down at his hand. “Unless I’m mistaken, you look like you’re planning to test whether an enchanted blade is the _only_ thing which can ‘pierce’ me,” she jokes. She should’ve known he’d be keen to pounce on her in this form. Or ANY form.

He tries not to let his embarrassment show, but it’s difficult so he simply manages a crooked smile, his gaze seductive. “Can you blame me, my jewel? You stand here, naked and glorious--how else am I to respond?”

Star looks up to meet his gaze. “I never said I wasn’t willing, did I?” Carefully, because he’s still flesh (and possibly more ‘vulnerable’ than usual in deference to her) and she’s basically a creature of stone who no longer knows her own strength, she reaches to brush the backs of her fingers along the visible bulge in his pants.

Loki finds himself rumbling deep in his throat, the sound drawn from him by the touch and faint scent of stone. Something of Star’s own scent mingling with cool rock has him slightly befuddled, and he can feel his own body wanting to shift, to become stone as well. Parts of him are already half-way there.

His eagerness makes Star want to laugh, but instead she shifts her weight carefully, leaning into him so she can brush her lips against his. _He’s so warm,_ she marvels, lightly fisting his robe in her free hand, letting the mirror drop to the floor with a clatter that neither of them notice.

The cool kiss brings taste into the heady sensations, and Loki rumbles again, feeling his control slipping another notch. His pet has always been alluring, but this added layer is getting to him.

She can feel Loki’s thumb, circling her nipple in a slow tease, and something about that touch seems to set off heat spinning inside her . . .actual or figurative lava, she doesn’t know, but she does want _more_. 

“You keep doing that,” she purrs against his mouth, “and I’ll have to show you just how strong I am.” She squeezes the handful of his robe tighter, sound vibrating in her own throat as she answers his growl with one of her own.

That sound, little, demanding and vibrating through stone is enough, and Loki feels his shape shift. His form becomes taller, cooler, harder, responding to the mouth against his. Loki reaches out and catches his pet’s hip, pulling her against him, their bodies smashing together with a thunderous crack. At her gasp of astonishment, he laughs, the sound like low thunder.

“Temptress. _Goddess_. Look what you have done to me,” he accuses her, his eyes glowing now.

“Oh, will you just shut up already? Like you don’t always ‘do what you want’!” she laughs, toppling him over onto his back on the floor -- she’s pretty sure the bed won’t survive their combined weight, so this is better. She presses down on him, breast to chest and hip to hip, faint sparks raised by the rasp of their skin against each other, tinder to flint. 

For once he can’t make her feel small, and she plans to take every advantage. It starts with kissing him hard. His lips part and his tongue meets hers, and she can’t tell if it’s searingly cold or hot, just that it’s not enough. She needs to get closer, to feel him against and within her. 

Loki grinds against her, aware of glorious weight pressing him down, of perfect heat and chill in every kiss. He nips, catching Star’s lower lip and enjoying her quick squeal. It’s the work of a moment to cup her ass and squeeze each cheek as well, knowing full well this wouldn’t be possible without being in proper form. Her thighs part, cool stone straddling his hips in an erotic arch as his pet grinds against him hard enough to rip the fabric of his kimono robe. That makes Loki laugh, this sweet madness heating up as he sets himself to devouring her mouth.

She feeds on his laugh, their tongues scraping literally together. It feels odd, everything hard and sharp-edged, but also so very right, driving her to push forward into him even harder, drawing a gasp from him as she grates against his shaft. 

A hissing sound and a faint scent of smoke distract her, and she glances down to realize the fluids trickling from between her legs are red-hot, and busily sizzling a section of his pants into ash, though Loki’s stone skin appears unaffected. _Huh. Well, if his semen is magma, I guess_ this _isn’t so weird._

“You are,” she points out as she looks down on him, “as usual wearing far too many clothes.” She doesn’t wait for his snarky reply, catching her fingers in the drawstring waist and pulling the burnt fabric apart like tissue paper.

“Why should I deny you the pleasure of destroying them?” Loki murmurs, his hands busily sliding up the back of her thighs with devious intent. “I suppose we can be grateful this castle is built on stone . . .” It’s difficult to talk though, and he doesn’t actually _want_ to talk because his body is now in charge and is lustily demanding its due. 

With easy strength he rolls them over, putting himself on top of his pet, luxuriating in having his full weight bearing down. It doesn’t faze her in the slightest, and she responds by snarling and raking her fingers down the outsides of his shoulders, making sparks. That reaction makes her snicker and she does it again for the fun of it. Loki lets her since it feels hellishly sensual. He reaches a hand for one stone nipple and the little grind of his thumb against it scrapes enough to make her shudder. Loki can feel the heat between her cool thighs, the hidden furnace of her desire beckoning him. 

He works a knee between hers and pushes them open, his other hand moving, sliding over her belly and between her hips. Had he been in any other form, Loki would find himself with burnt fingers, but here and now he laughs and slides his touch between her lips, against the slick steam there.

His fingers are rough and ice-cold, pushing deep inside her. It’s exactly what she craves, her hips arching up to meet him, her fingers tangling and catching in his hair. When his frigid thumb rasps across her clit, cold melding with her heat, it’s enough to drive another growl from her shuddering lungs, and boiling fluid trickles down her backside to leave smoking holes on the floor.

Loki laughs, his eyes glowing crimson as his hand moves slowly, too slowly, teasing her, and Star can _feel_ sparks igniting inside her as his fingers grit against her clasping walls. Her back bows and she pushes against his hands, her teeth grinding as she attempts to goad him into giving her what she needs so badly.

It’s more than enticing to feel her scorching heat, to sense the sheer magma within his pet. Loki shifts his hand and replaces it with his prick, thrusting hard even as the ball of his thumb barely rests on her clit, feeling its tiny white-hot pulse against his touch.

Sweet madness drives him on and Loki rocks into a steady grind, each thrust sizzling as her heat steams against his chill. The perfect combination of stone and friction, of unquenchable flame against unending ice makes him grunt, mad words spinning out against her breasts and shoulders where his mouth presses. “Mine . . . Mine to take, to fill!” Loki hisses, feeling cold trickles down the trough of his spine as he feels his climax building. Star wraps one leg around his hip and steam rises where she clings to him.

She feels nearly deafened by the noise their bodies make as they clash together, blinded by steam. He’s so _cold_ inside her, and hard and rough and utterly perfect, dizzying her. Loki’s possessive words thrill her, but also touch off the need to assert herself, to claim her ownership over him in return. When the impulse comes to twist her fingers into his hair and yank his mouth up to meet hers, she doesn’t bother to resist it.

The cool stone of Loki’s thumb presses harder, circling her nub, as his hips begin to stutter against hers, and just as she teeters at the precipice she turns her head and sinks her teeth into his shoulder, growling low. _Mine_ , she thinks without words.

He roars and thrusts savagely hard, spilling his icy seed. Star barely registers the resulting sizzle, the sharp motion enough to bring her off and carry her away with him. Her body seizes into a statue of ecstasy, the faint taste of his blood like hot liquor in the back of her throat. 

Loki rides the crest of his orgasm, washed away in the madness for long moments and when he finally comes back to his sated senses, feels the small icy trickle of blood along his shoulder. He pushes his hands on either side of his lover, lifting part of his considerable weight off of her and gives a low laugh. “ _You_ , pet, are overly fond of the taste of me,” Loki accuses good-naturedly. “Had you tried that in Midgardian form you would have broken your teeth on my hide.”

She looks somewhat embarrassed even as she gives a post-climactic shudder, as replete as he is, clearly. Loki echoes her sigh, allowing the languor to envelop them both as they lull in bliss for a while. Gradually though, he shifts to one side of the floor, hearing the floorboards creak a bit as he does so. “That was . . . unique,” he confesses to Star quietly. “I have never taken a female of my own . . . construct, before. Still very much you, but Jotunn in form . . . thank you,” he manages, feeling a little foolish. Because this is his pet, he hopes she understands what he means.

She must, because she moves to press against him, laying her head on his shoulder with a contented sound and they drift to sleep for a while as moonlight dapples the floor around them.

* * *

When Loki opens his eyes again, the early light of dawn accompanied by morning’s coolness has him alert.  He rises, picking Star up through a few sleepy protests, and tucks her into the futon before going to the screen that faces the garden. Loki opens it and stares out, breathing in the weedy watery scent of the pond. Nothing moves within his sight, but he senses a tension in the air that pleases him. 

She knows. Out there the Draugr knows it is her last day, and anticipation makes Loki smile dangerously.

Star wakes slowly, groggily. For a second the sight of her stony blue hand startles her, until she remembers what happened last night. The pained groan of the futon under her considerable weight confirms it. She’s still in Jotunn form, and she and Loki coupled that way last night . . .

She remembers biting him, and it makes her wince. What the hell had gotten into her? Vaguely she remembers Loki telling her once in one of his emails that Jotunn mating was raw, primal, even dangerous, so perhaps she can blame that for her . . .lapse.

Shifting slowly to the edge of the mattress, which sags tiredly beneath her weight, she looks up just in time to see Loki, his back to her as he stands by the open screen leading into the garden, fading slowly from Jotunn form back into the one she’s most familiar with.

He shrinks, slightly, his body turning from rough and cyan back to flesh and pale as Star watches. Loki is only wearing pants, so she can see nearly all of him as the runes and marks on his skin melt away. 

He turns to her and smiles, obvious affection in his gaze, though Star only relaxes once she realizes there’s no sign of any bite-marks on his shoulders. _Thank God._

“So,” she says as casually as she can manage, wrapping the sheet around herself, “did you tell your soldiers to expect back-up in the form of a blue rock-monster?” She punctuates the sentence with a crooked grin. She looks warily at the floor, wondering if she dares try to walk again yet.

“Actually, I did,” Loki assures her. “They are well-aware of my reputation as master of mystical arts. To them, it seems only logical that I would take a sorceress for my consort.”

He reaches up and rubs his shoulder, aware of a pleasant tingle still there and adds, “Speaking of mystical arts, my pet, I hope you were not so . . . distracted last night as to have actually _swallowed_ any of my blood.”

Star’s stunned stare sends a tiny jolt of alarm through him, and Loki purses his mouth, crossing the room to the futon and dropping one knee on it to look in her eyes. “Hmmmm,” he sighs, reaching to brush a stray curl from her slightly frightened face. “No, no, it’s not particularly dangerous, it’s simply that if you ingested it, part of this spell. . . .” he waves at her cool blue body, “may remain with you to some tiny degree. Not _permanently_ ,” Loki hastens to assure her since Star now looks panicked. “It depends on how much you ingested and if it occurred at the mutuality of our orgasms.” Loki gives her a twisted grin, adding, “Climaxes intensify spells since they focus a being’s physical and mental pleasure to a pinpoint of intensity.”

Try as she might, Star can’t remember if she bit him just before or during her climax. Nor how much blood she swallowed. Enough to _taste_ it, but beyond that? She has little idea. 

She’s not sure she wants to know what he means by ‘part of the spell’. _He also may be wrong,_ she reminds herself. Or she didn’t ingest enough. Either way, it’s too late to change what happened, so Star steadies herself with a deep breath or four, pushing herself carefully to her feet. Loki rises with her, hand cupped under her elbow to stabilize her, and she flashes him a distracted smile as she tests her balance.

It seems better than the last time she tried to walk in this body, and she gently brushes Loki’s hand away so she can take a few experimental steps, her confidence increasing as she manages it without problems.

“OK,” she says to him, turning to face him, one hand still holding the sheet around herself. “So, do Jotunns wear clothing? If so, I’m going to need some. I’m too tall now to fit into the clothes I arrived in,” she points out, waving at the jeans and shirt one of the attendants left neatly folded in a corner. At that moment she hopes that the ‘part of the spell’ doesn’t translate into permanent added height, or her students, officemates and family will surely notice the change after she gets back home!

Loki gives a slight shrug. “I am more adept at _undressing_ you than dressing you, my pet, but yes it’s generally wise to have clothing, especially prior to battle. I am sure Mako and her maids can help you choose something to gird you well. And we should take nourishment as well, since we strike in two hour’s time. What weapon would suit you best, beloved? Spear or club?” 

He can see her annoyance and knows that at least part of it is to mask her fear. Despite her occasionally sharp words, Star is not a warrior at heart, and Loki understands her trepidation. It comforts him to know that her Jotunn form will protect her far better than any Midgardian armor, and her strength will keep her by his side. 

Still, Loki can’t help but grin when she flounces back to the futon, grumbling. He moves to the opposite door and claps for Mako, who scurries up, averting her eyes from his bare chest.

So odd, this culture. Bathing is publicly accepted, but any other nudity shocks them so. He speaks to the girl, ordering breakfast and sending her off again before turning back to Star. 

“Stop enjoying this quite so much,” she grouses. “How well would _you_ do if you were plunked into the middle of  my world? Say, if I decided to give you the Psychology Graduate Record Exam? Then again, who am I kidding? You’d cheat anyway, wouldn’t you?” She shakes her head. “And I think I’ll forgo the club or spear in favour of my fist, thanks very much. I’m far less likely to miss that way.”

He’s still grinning, and Star rolls her eyes and sweeps her hair out of her face, a move she immediately regrets as the untidy curls catch and tangle on her rough stone fingers. _Ouch!_ She doesn’t say it out loud, but Loki’s smirk widens nonetheless. “Riiiight,” she drawls, “like you aren’t a curly-head yourself. Or would be, if you put aside that bear-grease or whatever it is you like to slather that mane of yours with, for five whole seconds.”

Her words surprise him, and Loki blinks, caught up for a moment. “Habit, I suppose,” he murmurs awkwardly. “Once, f-Odin told me a king should strive to be well-groomed at all times, and so I began to dress my locks all the better to keep them under control. Now that I can alter my form at will it is simply my custom to shift to the most familiar shape.”

Loki shakes his head and his hair immediately changes, the glossy dark strands loosely curling over his shoulders. “Better?” he asks Star, his mouth twisting into a small grin.

“Much,” she admits with an approving grin. Her hand twitches, wanting to play with the ebony strands, but then she remembers her sandpapery fingers. _Never mind._

Either way, they are interrupted by the arrival of Mako and Aoki. There’s a timid knock and Loki bades them to enter. The poor women nearly drop their trays of food when they spot her, and of course Loki is smirking again like he’s loving every second.

Star does her best to greet them as if there’s nothing at all odd about her covered in a stony blue skin and a bed-sheet, and to their credit they recover their composure within seconds, placing the trays on the low table, and bowing deeply. Though Star notices them shivering any time they pass close to her. 

Aoki scurries away, and Mako tries to do the same but Loki stops her, giving her instructions in a low voice that Star doesn’t catch. Her stomach is growling and the food looks delicious. She supposes it’s a good thing that Jotunns don’t eat rocks or sand or something else equally weird. She’s about at her limit for that kind of thing today.

“What was all that about?” she asks as Loki closes the screen and approaches the table.

“Suggestions for your clothing,” Loki tells her, reaching for the bowl of Miso and ladling some out for Star. “Magnificent as you are in your natural state, I think it would be dangerously distracting for the warriors, and you might end up making the Draugr jealous.”

He drops into a cross-legged sitting position, sipping the soup and savoring its flavor. Star joins him, still holding the sheet around her, and helps herself to the soup and noodles, though Loki has to show her how to pull the cold out of her hands first, so she doesn’t freeze the soup instantly to ice. They eat, not speaking much, and Loki enjoys the sight of her in the growing light. His pet has always had her beauty, and this variation is equally so. He notes that she is becoming more confident in her strength as well, and her coordination; that will bode well for the battle to come.

Once done with breakfast he rises. “Mako and Aoki will attend to you. When you are dressed they will bring you to the courtyard where I will give everyone their instructions. If you are willing to help entice the monster from her lair, I will be able to move to an advantageous position and strike the killing blow.”

It’s hard to sound nonchalant but Loki forces himself to do it despite the rising anticipation within him. Those of the greater realms take to battle, and he knows that while he will never love it to the degree Thor does, he cannot deny a sense of pleasure at the thought. Any fight can be a good fight, and victory is all the sweeter when won hand to hand.

“Sure,” Star agrees, “though how exactly should I do that? Stand in front of her cave and hurl insults? Maybe teach her some Sex ed? Heck, I don’t even know what this thing looks like,” she adds as that realization strikes her. She tries to relax her hand so she won’t snap the chopsticks in two.

_ What the hell am I doing?  _ she has to ask herself.

“The first suggestion would work,” Loki smirks. “I think you should lead with that. As for appearance, the Draugr will look like a corpse, although much taller. If she has been here as long as I suspect she has, she will also carry a stench of rotting greenery, and you will feel the tendrils of her thoughts reaching for you. They will _not_ affect you, but they may influence the warriors around you so know that, my jewel. Once she is focused on you and the warriors I will slip behind her and take her down.”

He sees his pet consider his words, and gently Loki moves to wrap his arms around her, stroking the blue stone of her back as he catches her gaze, holding it with his own. “You have armor now,” he reminds her. “The strength of the Jotnar is within you and through you.”

* * *

The sun has just cleared the hills and yet the day is cloudy as they ride to the edge of the forest. Loki sees his warriors moving quietly on their mounts, mouths tense, eyes watchful. The legends about this forest--of the monsters and ghosts here, of the poisoned air of gloom--they’re reflected in every Midgardian face around him. Loki slips off of his horse and straightens himself up, letting his indifferent courage pull everyone’s gaze his way. Star strides up, tossing her hair back as she moves to his side, a few steps behind. The flow of her heavy silk skirt catches the sunlight, making the embroidered green dragon glitter.   
Loki stations himself between the forest and the warriors; they in turn shift to stand and watch him, waiting for orders.

“Today we free this land,” he begins, and some part of him snickers as phrases better suited to his brother or to the Allfather roll off his silver tongue. “Too long have the people suffered under the evil within the Aokigahara Forest. This mizuchi will be destroyed.”

Some of the warriors nod, and others tighten their grips on their spears. Loki continues. “Lady Sigyn will draw the creature out. Flank her, keep your minds focused on the demon’s claws and feet. Attack those when you can. I will strike on the blind side, and by the Gods this battle can be over before the next hour comes.” 

Star steels herself, and at Loki’s nod, she steps forward into the forest with ten men. The rest will stay here, just outside the tree-line, until they are needed.   
The sunlight fades to gloom, and almost immediately Star feels the sense of _cold_ again, coiling around her thoughts like a venomous snake. “Fuck you,” she mutters, shaking it off as best she can, ignoring the muttering rustle of the trees around them.

They must walk only another minute or two before the corpses put in their expected appearance. They hang from trees, slump against the thick grey trunks of trees, and splay across the dry earth, all in various stages of decay. The warriors, already uneasy, begin to whisper amongst themselves.

“Steady,” Star urges them, pausing to scan ahead of them for movement. Nothing but skeletal, dangling legs swinging in the faint breeze, though the rustling of the leaves is more agitated than before. The Draugr is hanging back, it seems. 

“Come on, you bitch!” Star calls, the forest swallowing the words instantly. “Decorating in corpses is just so 2012!” she taunts.

More nothing. Until, that is, the warrior right behind her yells and tries to drive his katana into her spine. “Witch!” he curses as the blade shatters.

“It’s _her,_ ” Star growls, dodging as he draws a dagger and tries to attack her once more. “It’s her mind-control crap. Snap out of it, dammit!” She has to twist away again as he rushes her. Star could push him away, but she doesn’t want to risk hurting him.

She looks around at the rest of the men, and about half of them look confused, dazed. The other half are advancing on _her_ , swords drawn . . . and there’s one final man off to the far right, his eyes glazed over as he slowly puts the point of his dagger against his jugular.

“No!” Star shouts. She shoves through the warriors clustering around her, using her forearms to cast them away, forgetting to be gentle in her haste to stop the suicide happening in front of her eyes.

She doesn’t make it. 

“Fuck!” she snarls, looking with dismay at the blood coating her hands, at the crumpled form lying on the grass with his lifeblood pumping out of him. She glances over her shoulder, but there’s no help there; they’re all coming towards her now, weapons drawn as they mutter ‘witch’ and ‘gaiijin’, and Star can’t see any way that this will end well for any of the warriors. One man is already hanging back from the pack, eyes blank as he stares down at his sword. The Draugr already has her _amuse-bouche_ ; Star would guess she’s now lining up her appetizer.

_ I guess it’s up to me. _ She’s the one the Draugr can’t harm after all. Squeezing her fists shut and hoping she’s not making a terrible, terrible mistake, Star shoves through the mob once more, back towards the deepest part of the forest, and starts to run as fast as the trees, undergrowth, and random moldering corpses will let her.

They rise up.

Loki, making his way through the underbrush watches as a nearby skeletal figure tries to stand, swaying against the thicket it is caught in. He pushes past it, staying low, looking for the Draugr even as he feels his pulse quicken. This is an old monster, and cunning. She hasn’t had a true challenge to her horror, and Loki hopes her arrogance will help him defeat her quickly. His frost blade gives a high keening note in anticipation, and he stops, looking forward.

There is no word to describe what he sees, from the tattered Midgardian skins wrapped around the monster’s body to the tangle of vines and veins along her wiry arms. Loki can smell the charnel stench and grits his teeth, looking carefully to find the most vulnerable spot to strike. Not a limb; that will barely slow her. Not the torso; it’s been toughened by long years of exposure. The neck though--a severing blow would be best, but even deep slashes there will bleed her out within minutes. 

Sounds carry, and Loki hears Star coming closer, somewhere beyond the Draugr. He shifts his weight to the balls of his feet and readies his blade as he moves closer, keeping his thoughts blank. They have the monster between them now, and all he truly needs is a moment to strike hard.

Star yelps in shock, skidding to a halt as the corpses in her path start to get up. One grabs her arm, trying to bite deep into her stone skin, but its teeth crumble to nothing. Star can’t help a yell of triumph as she elbows the thing aside. If this is the Draugr’s last trick, it doesn’t stand a chance. Star punches a couple other corpses out of her way and starts to run again.

She rips through some vines and shoves aside another corpse before stumbling into a clearing.

“Holy crap!” she says, clapping a hand over her nose at the stench. Then she spots the _thing_. It has to be the Draugr. White as a corpse, wearing rotting skin and vegetation, and it stinks. “Bitch, you need a _bath_ ,” Star tells her, ignoring the sounds of branches breaking behind her. It’s either the warriors or the walking dead (or both), but it doesn’t matter. Neither of those can hurt her.

The monster growls, stepping towards Star. It’s taller than her, its claws nearly as long as Star’s fingers, but Star puts her faith in Loki’s words about the strength of the Jotnar. She balls up her fists and steps forward, then adopts a boxer’s stance.

In any other situation, she’d laugh. She has absolutely zero weapons training, and no martial arts training beyond that kick-boxing course eons ago. But hasn’t forgotten _everything_ ; she holds her fists up by her chin to protect her face, and waits for the monstrosity to get close enough.

The Draugr screams, the sound about as endearing as nails on a chalkboard, and comes at Star with her claws extended. Concentrating, Star does her best punch - left hook - and manages to connect, then kicks the staggering monster in the belly, driving it back. 

It snarls, recovering way too fast, and rakes its claws across Star’s left arm. The contact makes an ugly sound, but that’s all. The Draugr can’t pierce Star’s armour any more than the warrior or the zombie-thing did. Star laughs tauntingly. “That’s all you’ve got?”

The Draugr lifts her head to scream again, but before she can, the wet slice of a blade against the side of her neck stops her--that and the sudden fountain of moldy blood that sprays in gouts off to the side. Loki lets his anger drive the knife through its stroke, and the frost blade cuts through the diseased gristle and bone of the monster’s neck. The Draugr’s face slumps forward, and the weight of her head takes it off the stump to land at Star’s feet. Slowly the body crumples in quick rot, noxious fumes rising up to the canopy of the trees over them.

Loki grits his teeth and waits warily, shifting the knife from hand to hand, cautious even in this victory. Draugrs hold much strength and even now, a flailing claw could kill a Midgardian. He tightens his grip on the blade, but nothing at his feet moves, and the slime of the monster’s rotting remains sizzle wetly.

There’s the sound of bodies falling behind them, and Star looks over her shoulder to see the animated corpses crumple lifeless (well, sort of) back to the ground. _I think I’ll pass on the next season of ‘Walking Dead’ for awhile,_ Star decides with a shudder. 

She turns back to Loki, wrinkling her nose. “That has to be just about the grossest thing I’ve ever seen.” She steps gingerly around the disgusting puddle to his side. “And I’m a mom, so that’s saying something.” She doesn’t elaborate.

Loki grins, but anything he is about to say is forestalled by the arrival of the warriors. He holds out a hand to stop them from stepping in the oozing remains of the Draugr and speaks.

“How many fallen?” he asks the captain of the warriors, a squat, hard-faced man in leather armor who is staring at the slimy remains with thinly disguised distaste.   
“Three, Lord Loki-sama. One other is . . . injured, but will survive.” The captain looks towards Star and bows. “Lady Sigyn-sama you are fearless, and I would follow you into battle anywhere.”

The men behind him murmur in agreement, heads bowed, and Loki shoots his pet a sidelong glance of affectionate admiration. “Well _done_ ,” he whispers, smiling.

She looks startled, but pulls herself together enough to return a short nod to the captain. Loki drops his hand on the frost blade, and disquietingly, still feels a tingle in it. He clears his throat and turns his gaze to the men.

“The mizuchi is dead, but her evil magic still infects these woods and will linger, like smoke. Tomorrow we shall burn incense to cleanse the trees, but for now we must return and celebrate our victory. Ride back with the men, captain, and share the news. Lady Sigyn and I will follow you shortly.”

After the warriors leave, Loki squats and looks at the puddle thoughtfully, drawing his blade and touching the end of it into the dark slime. Immediately a hissing fills the air, and a vaporous figure rises out of it. It shoots a hateful look at him and Star, but clearly can do nothing more.

“Geez, won’t you _die_ already?” Star snarls at it, taking a step back. Then she remembers what Loki said earlier. “Oh wait, we’ve got to do something about the head, right?” she motions towards the body part in question. The skin and moss on it have already rotted off, but unlike the rest of the thing’s body, the skull is still intact. Withered and pitted, but still whole.

“Yes,” Loki says. “Wait here,” he instructs her as he spears his frost blade through one of the worn eye-sockets of the skull. She hasn’t really been keeping track of the number of spells Loki has used up today, but he must have kept something in reserve because he and the dripping skull just _disappear_ before Star’s eyes.

Star edges back from the snarling, spectral figure. Even if it can’t harm her, it’s still creepy. It follows her as she wanders around the clearing, and Loki is gone long enough for Star to consider whether to start back to the castle without him, and if the vengeful ghost will follow her that far. But before she makes up her mind the ghost of the Draugr screams thinly and dissolves into nothing, and Loki is standing in the clearing in front of Star, without the skull. 

“So, was it the sea or the volcano you decided on?” Star asks curiously. He’s wearing his usual Asgardian armour, and for some reason as her eyes trace down the strap laying diagonally across his chest, she finds herself thinking of when he used that leather on _her_ , and how he’d marked it with her scent after. She can feel the heat of desire building inside her immediately at the memory. _Whoa,_ she chides herself, _inappropriate time, much?_

“The volcano,” Loki tells her absently, his gaze moving around the trees surrounding them. “And even though we shall go through the Midgardian ceremonial cleansing rituals tomorrow, I fear the pervasive influence of the Draugr will linger for centuries to come. Still,” he shifts his attention to Star, his expression soft, “she could not have been defeated without your help. The odds of fighting her face-on and coming out the victor were smaller than I prefer; distracting her gave us the edge.”

Loki lifts his head and takes a deep breath; there it is--the scent of desire-heated skin drifting like ribbons from his pet. Clearly battle agrees with her, as does the strain of Jotunn within her make-up. He takes a step towards her, feeling his eyes redden with an inner heat of his own. There are reasons why warriors feast after a battle, Loki knows, and food is only one of the drives that need satiation. 

“Come to my bed,” he rumbles, holding her gaze.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star and Loki celebrate their victory over the Draugr, but Star later discovers Loki has left her with a little…surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Loki = not ours. Maybe we can win him over to our side? Here, kitty kitty! *dangles sex*
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> Banner made by **cincoflex**!

Star blinks, then a slow smile spreads over her face. OK, so she’s not the only one who’s inappropriately horny. Or maybe it’s not that inappropriate? The effects of combat on libido is NOT her area of expertise.

“Gladly,” she purrs, reaching to run a fingertip delicately down _that_ strap crossing his chest as she meets his red eyes. “Though something tells me your bed won’t survive.” Loki’s grin mirrors her own. 

“Assuming we even make it there,” she adds, as something in Loki’s posture makes her wonder if he’s about to take her right now.

“Not here,” Loki murmurs, still aware of the lingering miasma of the Draugr. “Come.” Taking her hand, he tugs her along, making his way through the twisted trees and gradually out of the forest back to the stretch of clearing. It’s empty now, although the grass has been trampled by horses and men. A short way off towards the south though, stands a small and rocky ravine guarded by wind-twisted brush, and it is there he leads her.

Affinity for stone; he spotted this little haven on their first visit, wondering if it had been the monster’s lair. Thankfully not, but once they pass behind the screen of the low cypress, the velvety carpet of thick grass there surrounded by high and jagged walls affords privacy.

He looks up, pleased by this little sheltered valley, and pulls Star to him. It’s not easy to do since she’s still stone, and stands eye-to-eye with him, but she lets herself be handled this way, smiling as her eyes gleam like rubies. “Here,” Loki announces with silky heat. “I need to make you mine again.”

“Do you?” she teases, watching his eyes redden further. She leans to kiss him, carefully pressing her rough lips to his smooth ones, slipping her coarse tongue into his mouth lightly.

He groans, and the vibrations delight her. The powerful God of Chaos, reduced to animal need by little old human her. Well, mostly human at the moment.

She steps back from him, grinning and deftly avoiding his hands as he tries to stop her retreat. He looks disapproving until she slides the silk dress carefully off the sharp angles of one shoulder. 

Loki’s hands clench by his sides, but his curiosity keeps him rooted to the spot, watching her sultry little show as she slips the dress free of the other shoulder, the fabric gliding down her chest until it catches on the slopes of her breasts.

Mid-strip-tease, Star stops for a second as she foresees a problem -- what if she bites him again? She doesn’t seem to have control over that aspect of her Jotunn self, and if he’s right about the effects of ingesting his blood, the last thing she needs is another dose.

The solution occurs to her as she gradually pulls free the sash of the dress, and Loki’s gaze grows more puzzled yet aroused as she winks at him.

Star lets the sash puddle into the lush grass, the silk dress following, pouring off her body completely. She turns her back to Loki and slowly goes to her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at him. “Then make me yours, my Dark Prince,” she urges him, their red eyes locked together, as she hopes their bodies will soon be.

The shift comes without hesitation, and Loki pulls his own clothing off quickly, the pulse of mad desire driving him on. He keeps his eyes on his pet, aware that part of her boldness comes from her form, and part of it has always been her nature. He has no doubt that her Midgardian bloodline includes conquerors. Loki moves behind her, slipping to his knees and leaning over her, his hands sliding raspily along her cool flanks.

“What, no gentle caresses to lead the mood?” he teases, and bends to lick the spiny trough of her spine as his hands slide down the front of her thighs. From the squirm of Star’s body, it’s apparent she’s aroused, and when one hand moves to cup the curly thicket between her legs, steam coats his palm.

She gives a growl and is about to say something, but Loki strokes her hot fur, letting his fingers slide through the curls, parting them and stroking the molten seam of her sex, making his pet shudder. “Shhhhhh,” he tells her, pressing the front of his thighs to the back of hers. His prick rubs against the valley of her ass, throbbing in anticipation. “You are my lover, not my conquest,” Loki tells her. “I want you ready for me.”

Star gasps a laugh as his finger grits across her nub. “Maybe you’re MY conquest,” she jokes back at him. It’s not easy but she balances on one hand, twisting until she can drag her fingertips down his jagged chest, raising faint sparks. _Yoga class is finally paying off, hurrah,_ she marvels.

He laughs at that, like falling pebbles, and presses closer to her. It transforms into a moan when her hand wraps around his shaft, and Star grins as she traces her finger slooooooooowly along all those lovely little ridges.

He retaliates - if one could call it that - by making circles with his finger, her heated nub at the center, and again Star can feel the molten liquid starting to drip down her leg to sizzle the poor grass to gray ash.

She pants and digs her fingers into the turf, struggling to concentrate on teasing him, even as he continues to tease her, circling faster with his long fingers. She pushes back against him and wriggles, grating their bodies together.  
   
Loki reluctantly frees his prick from her grasp and guides himself into the steaming cleft of her sex, thrusting deeply and making his pet groan in a gravelly voice. He stops, allowing his prick to throb within her, each pulse against her inner walls adding searing heat within her. It’s an exquisite sensation, and he allows himself a moment to bare his teeth and dig his fingers into her hips for good purchase before beginning to pump himself in hard, relentless strokes.

He revels in this primitive power, where lust is almost a painful pleasure, an irresistible drive to fill and conquer. Under him, Star writhes, hips twisting, her breath in short steam-filled chuffs now as she meets each stroke with a backward push of her own. Loki looks down at her slender back bent before him, and the sweet submissive pose sends another surge of lust through his cock.

Star grinds her teeth together, matching him stroke for stroke, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m ready for you now,” she gasps, her announcement met by his dark laughter, his fingers gritting around her hip as he reaches to press hard on that tiny, white-hot spot.

“Yesss, you are,” he hisses, bending to bite at her earlobe, and she very nearly howls as the climax takes her, volcanic and swift, reducing her to tumbled rocks on the smoking grass.

She feels the throb inside her as he follows her release with his own, collapsing on top of her. Star has to chuckle at the heat lingering between their bodies. “We’d better be careful not to start a forest fire,” she notes as she looks at the steam still rising from their bodies.

There’s also a puddle of molten material on the grass underneath her, and Star moves to snuff it out with one armoured palm. “For Frost Giants, there’s sure a lot of _fire_ involved,” she notes dryly.

“Fire and Ice balance each other,” Loki grunts, stroking her shoulders before reluctantly slipping free of her body. “Rock can be _both_ , according to legend. If you prefer the cold, there are ways to channel passion that way too.”

And there are, Loki knows, but at the moment he’s too sated and content to think about them. The scent of burnt greenery and the tendrils of smoke make him smile, though, and he shakes his head to clear it, feeling relaxed. “There will be a celebration,” he tells Star, and rolls playfully with her across the grass, pinning her lightly. “Feasting of a sort and more rice wine. There might even be music, although I have trouble enjoying it. The women sing like cats desiring a mate,” Loki makes a face and his pet laughs at his expression.

“Different strokes for different folks, I guess,” she concurs. She doesn’t fight his hold on her, but she _does_ press her hips up into him. “I think I’ll avoid drinking more than one cup this time. No reason to tempt fate.” She puffs a stray curl out of her face and smiles up at him.

As he smiles back, she wonders: How strange that the God of Mischief, according to legend an evil and self-interested figure, would go out of his way to protect the locals by taking on a monster of his own free will. She wonders if this might not be a good moment in which to plant another seed, to suggest to him that he doesn’t always have to be the bad guy in the story. There’s more to him than that.

“You know, you keep saving people like this out of the goodness of your heart, we may have to make you an honorary Avenger.” She smirks and waits to see his reaction.

He shifts form, reverting to his Asgard shape, and shakes his head. “This wasn’t out of goodness. It was more of a pragmatic choice, my jewel. The Midgardians here would never be able to defeat such a monster on their own, and by doing so _for_ them I have earned their renewed loyalty. Any ruler would do, _should_ do as much for their minions.”

It’s strange to think, but true; he hadn’t challenged the Draugr for the sport of it, as he might have once. No, his whole intent was to secure his little kingdom here, and protect the Midgardians under him. He gives a sigh. “I have been noble, but I assure you it wasn’t on _purpose_.”

Star arches a perfect eyebrow at him and he gives a half-smile in return. “Not an Avenger, never that. Guardian perhaps. Come, the feast awaits and we must make an appearance.”

“If you say so,” she says, though she makes sure to give him a sharp, frankly appraising look. _Rationalize it any way you want, Loki,_ her look says. _That doesn’t make it any less true._ But she says nothing else, just takes his hand carefully in hers, leading him back to the trail and his horse. Star is way too heavy to ride, but her legs are long enough to keep up with the horse’s leisurely trot.

Star feels surprisingly shy when they arrive at the castle gate and are greeted by loud cheers. _Aww shucks,_ she thinks. At least Jotunns don’t blush, so that’s something.

The crowd mills around them, grateful people reaching towards them, trying to touch her hand or arm. “It was nothing, really,” Star demurs. _It’s easy to be brave when one is invincible_.

Loki nods to the crowd, and makes his way into the castle, letting servants take his armor and accepting the stone cup of sake held out to him. He murmurs his thanks and tells Mako to tend to his pet, then goes to the garden, approaching a small and wizened figure there.

Tamaki, the Shinto priest. He looks up from his admiration of the rock garden and gives Loki a formal nod. “Lord Loki-sama.”

“Sensei Tamaki,” Loki replies, coming to walk alongside the man. “As you know the mizuchi is now destroyed, but . . .”

“But the woods have been poisoned,” Tamaki finishes lightly. “Just as we thought they would be.”

Loki nods. Since his assumption as lord of the castle, he has found the priest to be one of the more intelligent Midgardians here, and one well-aware of magic. It seems odd to have an ally, but Tamaki has supported him strongly. “Are you prepared to further exorcise what lingers?”

“As best we can,” Tamaki assures him, “although it will take many years to cure. Still, you have done a brave deed this day, Lord Loki-sama.”

Loki gives a self-deprecating chuckle. “Hardly. Lady Sigyn had a much greater part in the downfall of the monster.” His expression sobers a bit. “And there were still deaths.”

The priest nods. “They died with honor, and will be remembered. Tomorrow I will take my acolytes and perform the cleansing rituals at the clearing. Will you send the news out?”

Loki considers this. It would be gratifying to share his triumph to other villages and castles throughout this place, but natural caution makes him hesitate because such an announcement might bring new challengers eager to pit themselves against him.

Trickster he might be, but Loki has learned that war is not to his taste. He looks to Tamaki. “Your counsel?”

“Let the musicians compose a ballad about the battle and carry the song with them,” the priest suggests. 

“That sounds like a plan,” Star agrees as she walks into the garden to join them. She’s wearing a new kimono - a man’s kimono because she’s too tall for a woman’s now, belted loosely so her stone skin won’t rasp it to pieces - and holding her own cup of sake though she sips from it almost reluctantly. Embarrassing herself in front of Loki is bad enough, but in front of a whole castle’s-worth of people? No thanks.

The other man bows himself away, and Loki turns to her. He’s holding another ‘kanzazi’ or whatever it’s called, this time with two serpents twining on it, in shades of green and gold that match his kimono, and she shakes her head in disbelief at the opulence though she takes it and twists it into her hair with a smile and her thanks.

“Shall we?” he asks as he extends his hand to her.

Star takes a deep breath. She’s never really been much of a social butterfly, so as activities go, a ‘victory feast’ is right up there with dentist or gynecology appointments on her ‘fun stuff to do - NOT’ list. But if it’s expected, it’s expected, so she takes Loki’s hand (carefully) and walks side-by-side with him into the large central room of the castle.

The food is exquisite, at least. She won’t be craving sushi for months at this rate. Though Loki has a point about the singing. Star’s musical tastes run more to heavy metal and alternative, so she’s not much of a fan either. She smiles sympathetically at Loki, who looks like he wants to jam the fingers of both hands in his ears, and she squeezes his hand under the table.

He flashes a small crooked smile her way and re-directs his attention to the other people in the main room, looking at them or more specifically at those looking at his pet. Most are respectfully fascinated, their furtive stares coming between polite nods and averted gazes. A few are hostile, but that doesn’t surprise Loki; given how harsh their previous master was, it’s to be expected that a few minions will always be suspicious.

The ones who annoy him though, are those who look at Star lustfully. There is a heated glitter in the gaze of a few, and while Loki appreciates their taste, it irks him nonetheless.

Perhaps a demonstration of strength is needed, he decides, and bends closer to his pet, whispering in her ear. “I think it would be an excellent idea if after this . . . song . . . you were to show everyone a bit of your power, my gem. A few out there seem to think you can be wooed.”

He sees a twitch across her expression and when she shoots him a sidelong glance, Loki uses his chin to indicate the heavy stone block supporting the fire pot off to one side of the hall. “A little show of power might keep them from becoming a bother,” he suggests.

Star glances around the room, feeling skeptical. Lusting after _her_? While she doesn’t consider herself unattractive, she’s no Angelina Jolie, and somehow she doubts her Jotunn looks would appeal to anyone other than Loki (or another Jotunn).

Then she does notice at least one man examining her speculatively, and she heaves an inner sigh. _Pervs abound in every century and on every planet_. _Lucky me_.

She thinks a ‘show of power’ will do little to put anyone off, if they’re twisted enough to wonder what sex feels like when it’s with a being covered in stone (which of course makes her just as twisted, since that attitude was the start of how she got here, wasn’t it?). But there’s little harm in it that she can see.

So when the song ends and the applause dies down, Star rises to her feet, though she looks at Loki and wonders how exactly she’s supposed to frame this little demonstration. Should she just march over and move the rock, like it’s an afterthought? Or was he planning to announce that Star will now entertain them with her feats of strength?

Loki meets her gaze and wonders at her hesitation. Surely she knows her strength is more than enough to move the block. He speaks up, his tone mild. “The Lady Sigyn is too warm and wishes to move the fire.”

Around the room, the audience quiets, most people looking to each other in puzzlement. Loki watches as his pet lifts the red-hot iron of the firepot in one hand, and pushes the heavy stone block with the other. The grating scrape of the half-ton block across the few feet of the floor can be heard all through the hall, and when Star sets the fire pot back onto the stand, the low murmur of admiration ripples through the crowd. Loki notes that certain men have gone pale, and are looking away now.

He rises, waiting until everyone goes silent again, and paying attention before he speaks. “We have defeated the mizuchi of the forest, but the land there remains unclean and dangerous. Tomorrow the priests go to purify it. In two days Lady Sigyn and I will journey north, to visit the mountain until the harvest season.”  
The priest, Tamaki, bows and speaks up. “We shall keep your castle well, Lord Loki-Sama, and give offerings for your safe travels.”

Star watches Loki, wondering what he’s talking about. ‘ _Visiting til harvest season’?_ Is this his sneaky way of taking his leave of this place? Or perhaps it’s to cover her vanishing back to her own time?

This is one of the longer stretches of time she’s spent in Loki’s company before returning to her own home, and she’s been assuming that after she reverts to her usual form at  midnight , Loki will be ready to send her home again. But maybe not?

Thanks to his time-bending abilities, Star could easily spend weeks or months with Loki, between her stretches at home in her usual life. But even if that’s what he wants, Star isn’t sure that would be best for _all_ of them. Right now her home and her family are still her ‘main’ life, and if she starts spending too much time with Loki . . .

Loki holds his hand out to her, and Star nods at the assembled people as Loki draws her out of the room and back to their bedroom. Star sits cross-legged on a mat -- she still doesn’t trust the bed to support her bulk -- and waits for Loki to slide the screen shut. 

“Is there some monster in the mountains you hope to kill next?” she asks, hoping he’ll let her in on his newest scheme, if there is one.

“No monster,” Loki assures her, undoing the ponytail and shaking his head to free his hair. “Matters are generally at peace here and shall be for many months. I was merely giving us an excuse to take our leave for a while . . . or allow you to return back to your own time if you wish to,” he concludes reluctantly. It’s difficult to share Star’s attentions, and had she only the husband then Loki would feel no qualms in keeping her at his side. But there _is_ someone else and much as Loki fights the resentment, he understands the bond and respects it. 

After all, he has his own children, after a fashion.

Still, the two of them have faced death, and Loki knows that sort of experience can stir the heart in painful ways, so this is an opportunity for them to choose whether to stay in this serene corner of Midgard, or to seek adventure elsewhere. 

“Have you any . . . need to return?” he asks, awkwardly. It’s difficult to put the question to her, but necessary. He wants her by his side, but only with her consent.

Star sighs and shuts her eyes at the _need_ she sees in Loki’s gaze. It’s not fair all around. Even with his flaws, her husband is a good man. And Loki is flawed, and certainly NOT a good man except maybe in the narrowest sense, with her. Yet she loves them both. 

She’s spent an interesting time here with Loki, but it’s time to return to her ‘real’ life and her family, as difficult as that is. There may come a time when she’ll have to choose between them, but she doesn’t think that time is now.

“Yes,” she says, staring now at the floor. “But not right this second.” She forces a smile and holds up a hand, waggling her stone fingers. “You’re stuck with me until  midnight at least. When I turn back into a pumpkin.” She can tell he doesn’t get the reference, but it’s not important.

“Come here,” she says, beckoning to him. He looks downcast, but she’s pretty sure she has at least a temporary cure, as she shrugs off first one side, then the other of her kimono, baring her chest.

Loki bends down to her, and reaches a finger to her collarbone, sending a jolt of ice along her stone skin. His pet gives a little twitch of surprise even as her nipples rucker up. Smiling, he pulls his touch back fractionally, noting the circular feathery pattern left behind. “I shall _decorate_ you,” he tells her, and motions to Star to lie back on the mat.

She does so reluctantly, and Loki knows the cold hasn’t harmed her in any way, merely chilled her. Even now her slate skin holds the crystal frost design like a tattoo. He kneels down and holds out his hands, flexing them as he leans to kiss her.

His lips and tongue are warm, but the teasing bite of chill is in his touch, and Loki lets his fingers drift over her shoulders and along her ribs, moving closer around each breast, leaving crystalline ferns and curlicues and beautiful patterns. Under his skillful touch his pet shifts and wriggles with each kiss of heat and touch of ice. Finally, with sweet cruelty, Loki slides his tongue deeply into her mouth and pinches her nipples.  
   
After the initial jolt of pressure and cold, it feels good, and Star groans deep into Loki’s mouth. He chuckles and squeezes her peaks again, making her wriggle underneath him. When he coats each nipple in a tight, tingly cap of ice before loosening his grip, she squeals and reaches to fist a hand in the loosely curling fall of his hair, though she remembers to check herself at the last second. It’s a sneaky, clever form of bondage he has her in now; she must restrain herself to keep from injuring him, since he hasn’t taken on his Jotunn form yet.

So she kisses him again, roughly but less so than she _wants_ to - _and for God’s sake, don’t bite him!_ \- and she reaches down, writhing underneath him as she works the kimono and her pants down over her hips and thighs. Of course he doesn’t do anything to help, just watches her progress with an intent gaze and a dark smirk hovering over his thin lips.

She kicks the kimono away and arches, pushing her iced nipples up into him, letting them rake across his still-clothed chest. He growls deep from the bottom of his throat, and she laughs in return,  pulling the sides of his kimono apart so she can press into herself (again, not as hard as she wants to) against his bare skin and melt his little ice designs against the warmth of his flesh. 

He rumbles again and kneels up over her, pulling the kimono off and throwing it aside, his eyes now tinged ruby. She expects him to shift to Jotunn form but he doesn’t, not yet. No, he resumes his ‘decoration’ of her body, starting from where his improvised ice clamps are still deliciously tormenting her throbbing nipples, feathering the frigid designs across her belly and then lower and lower, his body moving down off hers as he goes.

Though she may well regret doing so, Star spreads her thighs for him and digs iron nails into the mat, tense and eager and waiting for whatever sensuous torment he intends to visit upon her now.

Loki bunches his fingertips and makes leopard spots of lacy ice from hip to hip, enjoying the way the white lies on the slate-blue of his pet’s body. Part of his thoughts drift into the artistic aspect, enjoying how the patterns compliment the runes, and he contemplates taking her to a place where Star could be freely naked, wearing only his designs.

Another more _insistent_ part of him though, urges him to join with her. He takes his free hand and draws a line on his own chest from throat to navel, and fern feathers of frost branch thickly on either side across his pectorals. Dimly he wonders why this feels right; if it is part of his Jotunn heritage to thus mark his mate and himself this way. Certainly the look in Star’s eyes tells him that the pattern appeals to her.

He slips a thumb along the inside of her thigh, mirroring the pattern on the other and making long lines of ice to her knees. Her gasp--quick and ragged--makes Loki smile.

“Fire _and_ ice,” he murmurs, curving himself down and slipping his thumbs on either side of her stiff little clit. Gently he rubs it between them, barely touching it, then more firmly as she begins to roll her hips. Loki slows and speeds up for a while, building her arousal until the murderous ruby gleam of her gaze and the white puffs of her quickening breath let him know she’s on the edge.

Loki bends and ever so tenderly, gently, mouths at her clit as his thumbs rub harder, the chill of his fingers combined with the sudden heat of his mouth right on her most sensitive spot.

She utters a strangled cry, but the distant sizzling sound distracts her, informs her that she’s leaking molten material again. How Loki isn’t being burned, she has no idea, but that’s his problem. Star pulls away just long enough to wrench the smoldering mat out from under them with an impatient curse, then she winds her fingers in his hair and yanks him back into his previous position.

“Don’t you _dare_ stop,” she hisses. He has the temerity to laugh, so she wraps her legs around his shoulders, heedless of how his bare flesh reddens from the scrape of her stone skin, and pins him in place. His frigid thumbs tease her again, pressing inward on the little pebble of her clit, and she moans, head falling back again as his heated breath caresses the spot.

Her stone body is feverish, the ice patterns beading up into water and then turning into steam. Even the little nipple caps are melting, dripping like tickling little fingers down her sides. She’s sure she’s dripping lava on him as he presses another kiss between her legs, his hot slick tongue coming out to swipe across her trapped nub, and with a squeal and a full-body shudder she explodes, spinning out of control.

Star lazily allows her arms and legs to collapse back onto the floor, watching Loki through half-lidded eyes.

He shifts, the quick ripple of change rolling through his form like water cascading over him, changing his pale flesh to rock, quick glints of mineral sparkling here and there in the light. Lightly he rubs his lower lip with the back of his hand, and steam spirals up from where her essence has been. Loki says nothing, but holds his pet’s gaze, his imperative blatant, his knowing smile fading into an unspoken weight. Seeing her lying back, her chest still rising and falling with exertion is enough to bring his desire to a wave’s crest of lust and Loki longs to wash over Star, to fill her, take her, flood her again.

But he waits, his cock jutting forth, little drops of glowing semen hissing as they fall to the floor between her open knees. Loki waits for her to acknowledge that her need for him is as great as his is for her. That little acquiescence, that simple recognition on her part is all that holds him back, and he fights himself, waiting for her to yield.

Star blinks up at him, wondering what the fuck he’s waiting for. _I’m a psychologist, not a psychic, so it’s not like I can read your mind,_ she wants to snap at him. Then she has a better idea. The element of surprise.

She pulls her legs under her and kneels in front of him, dipping her head towards his rampant length, though she checks herself at the last second. If ingesting his blood had turned some part of her Jotunn, even temporarily, maybe ingesting his semen isn’t such a good idea? Then again, it’s not like they’ve been using condoms (even if they made fireproof ones!), so maybe it’s just swallowing blood she has to worry about.

She also hopes that the molten pre-cum won’t damage her, but Loki seems unharmed by her fluids, so . . .cautiously she licks at the slightly rough-textured knob of his cock, and Loki’s groan is very gratifying.

Star shifts position slightly to engulf him in her mouth, the taste of him sandy and salty and faintly spiced. She looks up to lock her crimson gaze with his wide-eyed one, and his hand scrapes across her shoulder to rest grittily on her neck, and instinct tells her he’s barely fighting off the urge to grab a fistful of her hair.

It’s not every day one catches the Trickster off-guard, and Star’s going to enjoy it thoroughly.

Teasing those lovely little ridges on his shaft with her teeth is fun, humming around a mouthful of him is even more fun, but the most fun of all is listening to him gasp and moan, and watching him watch her so intensely, as if he is committing every second to memory.

Loki clenches his jaw, savoring the sensation and feeling gratified in a rush of searing lust and tenderness. Clearly she understood his need; this sweet act is proof of that. He rocks forward gently, trying not to choke her, trying not to let his hand grip her shoulder too tightly as the pleasure courses through him.

Some little nagging thought lingers on the edge of his mind and annoyed, Loki tries to dismiss it, but as Star continues to toy with his shaft the thought gains focus, distracting him for a moment. He gives a sigh as he realizes what he had forgotten in this moment of sensual delight; namely that she should _not_ drink his seed. Loki growls, frustrated and wryly amused at the same time. With great reluctance he reaches down and touches her cheek, shaking his head.

His pet is surprised, and shoots him a confused look, but Loki takes himself in hand, turning slightly so his prick doesn’t bob against her nose. “No. Not unless you truly plan to become Jotunn to some degree, my jewel. My blood and my seed, absorbed into you would do that.”

She looks by turns startled and slightly frustrated and wary, but Loki drops to his knees and reaches for her, his mouth against her jaw line, his whisper soft against the scraping of stone. “Yes I enjoyed it, yes I would want more than _anything_ to have you drink me down but this form, Jotunn, can be dangerous for both of us.”

He wants to say more but clear thought sizzles away under the heat of their closeness, and Loki’s long, lanky arms tighten around her as his prick presses up between them, burning and throbbing.

_ OK, magic is fucking  _ weird, Star is thinking. _I can’t ingest his blood or semen, but absorbing it through my reproductive system is totally safe. Who decided on_ that _rule?_

Then she decides she really doesn’t care, so she only mutters “OK” and nips Loki’s jaw, palming his erection and rasping her fingers along it until he growls and presses her down into the floor under his full weight, lust fully ignited in his gaze.

She’s not in the mood for another delay, squirming around just enough to regain her grip on his hot shaft before she guides it inside her, flames licking at her hand. _His_ hands are icy, one closing tightly in her hair and the other squeezing her breast. The contrast, frozen and feverish, pushes her further towards the edge.

He’s grinding into her with all his strength, driving her hip bones into the stone floor to leave deep scratches, his grip on her hair not slackening at all, and when Star looks up at him, almost all reason is lost from his gaze. 

She moves to grab and hold, pulling his hips harder to hers, rubbing her clit up against his iron flesh as he drives forward deep, and it’s enough, just what she needs to shove her into climax. He roars loud enough to shake the roots of the castle as he follows soon after, then he slumps over her, both of them spent.

*  *  *

It’s the change that wakes her some time later. A tingle that runs along every nerve as she shrinks, her flesh softening, the edges rounding. 

_ Oh Christ, he’s heavy.  _ Loki is lying on top of her, asleep, and still in his Jotunn form. His stone skin feels much rougher and harder than it did to her when she was also Jotunn, and her nipples stiffen immediately against his icy chest.

She drags in a breath, though it’s difficult when he’s compressing her lungs, and shoves at him with all her pitiful strength. “Loki! Wake up, you’re crushing me!”

He rolls sleepily, his stone form thudding slightly against the floor, and within moments he manages to shift himself, feeling dazed and languid. Next to him his pet is drawing in a few deep breaths as she re-adjusts to her Midgardian body once more. Loki rises up on one elbow and reaches to stroke her smooth bare shoulder.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asks, looking her over carefully for bruises. There is a small one along her closest hipbone. Loki runs a cooling finger over it as she sits up. Dawn light is filtering through the screens and his stomach rumbles a little. He shifts to look at Star, and spots the tiniest glint of red along the irises of her eyes.

“I’m OK. I think,” she answers honestly, looking herself over. Nothing unusual that she can see, no expanses of blue stone dotting her flesh or anything like that. The bruises are no big deal. She doesn’t even bother asking Loki to heal them, it’s not worth wasting his magic on it. She walks into things in her tiny condo so frequently that she can easily explain any random bruising away. If anyone even notices.

She gets up slowly, wondering why Loki is watching her like that, his gaze thoughtful. She takes a few steps but that’s working fine too. _Apparently I only forget how to walk when I turn Jotunn._

Star turns and he’s _still_ watching her closely. “What?” she attempts to joke. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he answers, unfolding his long form as he rises to join her. Star shrugs and turns to look for the clothes she came in, stopping with an eye roll as her stomach growls at her. She sighs and looks to Loki again. “Breakfast, and then . . . I’ll go home?” Sadness tears at her then. She feels pulled apart, yanked in two directions at once, but she has no choice. She’s not willing to give up either of them.

_ You’ll live, _ she tells herself. _Treat it like a long-distance relationship. It’s awesome when you are together, and it_ SUCKS _when the ‘visit’ is over . . . but there will be other visits._ Loki’s face is unreadable now, and she can’t tell if he’s as affected by their imminent separation as she is.

He draws in a breath and holds out a hand to her, letting Star interlace her fingers with his, and pressing their palms together in a little gesture of easy intimacy. “Breakfast and we _both_ journey on, my queen. I do not want to stay here without you.”

It seems to be the right thing to say, and he pulls her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly as his pet tries to smile. Loki lifts his chin and gives her a smile in return. “I consider it my calling to make trouble, and this corner of Midgard is fairly quiet, anyway. I have heard that there were _other_ times in your history where gods walked among you--perhaps I shall go then, and see if they live up to the name.”

He knows of at least _one_ time, and that many of the ancient ones there were honored with statues of stone. It will be hot, and for a while the strangeness of that location will keep the memories at bay, Loki hopes.

Until then, he has Lady Sigyn, the slayer of the mizuchi at his side.

“Just be careful, OK?” Star knows she must sound like a broken record, but if Loki thinks so too, he hides it well behind the warmth in his eyes.

*  *  *

Returning to her usual life doesn’t go as smoothly as Star anticipated. The first nasty aftereffect, beyond missing Loki, is the nightmares.

In them, the Draugr succeeds in getting Star to stab herself, and she dies, Loki leaning over her in helpless panic. In another, it’s that warrior Star couldn’t save, dying over and over in her arms. In the worst ones, it’s Loki himself killing her in many slow and creative ways.

Star wakes each time shuddering and sweating, though thankfully without screaming. Though she and hubby often share their nightmares and weirdest dreams with each other, this is one time when Star would prefer _not_ to share.  
Unfortunately, the nightmares are not even the nastiest surprise that awaits her.

The second unpleasant surprise makes itself known at work, in her office, while she’s in the middle of trying to explain to an angry student why not following instructions tends to lead to low grades.

Loki is dead right about one aspect of her: Star _is_ quick to anger. She’s been working on it for a number of years, and in some areas of her life, she’s gotten to a point where she can control it pretty well. Unfortunately that doesn’t seem to be the case when she’s with Loki, nor does she have much success when it comes to annoying students.

She sighs and tries another tack with the student. “It doesn’t matter, I’m afraid, what other teachers have let you do.” _And you’re probably lying about it anyway,_ she thinks but doesn’t say. T _hey let you cut and paste whole paragraphs word-for-word from the journal articles? Suuuuuuuure, I believe you. NOT_.

“My instructions clearly state here-” she shows the student with a jab of her finger “-exactly what is expected of you. It also states what the penalty is for not paraphrasing. You have to learn to follow instructions, and to give each teacher what they ask for - even if one teacher’s way of doing things contradicts another, or-”

The student interrupts to protest for the third or fourth time with, again, ‘but the other teachers let me!” his voice rising angrily, and Star feels her own anger rising. _You’re an ass,_ she wants to snarl, a _nd repeating your lame excuse will not make it any less lame! You got caught cheating, so why don’t you fucking own up to it and-_

The student stops speaking and looks around the room, his expression confused. “Miss, did it get really cold in here all of a sudden?” Star realizes two things at that precise moment: 1) she can see her own breath and the student’s misting in the air between them, and 2) her knee feels as if she has a block of ice resting on it, the material of her jeans turning painfully frigid. 

Star risks a glance under her desk, to see the hand she has resting on her knee is now blue. Jotunn-blue, and also big. Bigger than it should be and . . . rocky. And this effect is crawling busily up her arm.

Her eyes widen. _Oh, SHIT._

She can’t let the student see this. “I think they just turned the a/c on. At last,” she says as calmly as she can manage, trying to tamp down her anger and keep her hand hidden under the desk as she turns to him.

“Look, I have another meeting right now. And I’m afraid since it’s written right here, explicitly, in black-and-white what you had to do to earn grades, I don’t see that I can make an exception for you. It wouldn’t be fair to the other students who DID follow the instructions properly.”

The student draws in a breath, about to argue further, and Star can _feel_ the cold advancing. She feels herself _want_ to freeze this aggravating little-

“I’m afraid that’s all I have to say about this. If you aren’t happy, you can take it to the Grades Review Board.” She puts the offending appendage behind her back quickly, ushers the student out, and closes the door behind him. Then she stares at her hand as it slowly returns to normal. For now.

“Fuck _me_.”

*  *  *

Normally the first thing she does after work is pick up A.J. from daycare, but not today. Today, she has something she has to do first.

The condo is empty when she gets home. Hubby isn’t back from work yet either. Thank God. Or whatever gods may be listening. She hopes at least _one_ is.

Star digs the Snakkestein out of her pocket, and takes a deep breath. “LOKI!” she yells. She hopes he was lying when he said it wouldn’t summon him.

*  *  *

It’s disorienting to move from the white glare of sunlight on mud brick to the relatively low lighting of a living room, particularly at light-speed. Loki rises from the crouch he was in and straightens up, feeling alert but not alarmed, and the coolness of the air gives him a moment’s pause as he tries to orient himself.

The call reached him, pulled him quickly and effortlessly through time and over distance. As a god Loki supposes he’s far more used to it than most beings, having travelled the bifrost frequently in his youth. Still he is a little off-guard, and the startled glance of his pet compounds the matter as he exchanges gazes with her. Loki offers her a smile, well-aware that his appearance has robbed her of speech for the moment, as well it might.

His shendyt hangs low on his slim hips, and is of the best quality linen, although splattered a bit with clay at the moment, while the heavy gold and jade cuffs on his forearms emphasize the lean sinew of his bare arms. Loki’s hair hangs in a long braid between his shoulders, and a single band of leather encircles his head, holding a small gold serpent talisman at his forehead. His eyes are rimmed with kohl, and the dark makeup highlights how green they are; the small tuft of beard at his chin is lightly oiled.

Loki holds out clay-flecked hands to Star, and speaks lightly. “My masterpiece was nearly complete, too. What is wrong, my heart’s desire? From your tone I expected an army to defeat.”

She stares, not sure whether to laugh - _I’ve found the lost member of the Village People!_ \- Or to drool over all that bare, well-muscled flesh. 

On the heels of those thoughts she realizes: _He_ was _lying when he said the Snakkestein wouldn’t summon him._ _Or he’s changed the spell on it since._  
It makes her wonder what else he’s lied about, but she has more pressing issues. Carefully, she channels her anger, feeling both hands this time go blue and cold, and she raises them between her and Loki.

Somehow she manages to keep her voice carefully controlled. “No army. But I do find it very inconvenient, when I almost ‘hulk out’ on a student.” She remembers then that Loki might bristle at the reminder of the being who defeated him once, but it’s too late to take it back now. “So I need you,” she continues, “to do something about it. Please tell me you can un-Jotunn me? I don’t want to accidentally turn a student into a glacier. They’re damned annoying at times, but they don’t deserve that. Not to mention the likelihood of finding myself locked up in a lab and dissected by secret government agents, if they find out about it.”

Loki examines her hands, keeping his expression neutral, although inside he feels a rush of concern. Truly his pet could not have ingested enough for this? He wonders if their constant exchange of bodily fluids has made her Midgardian form more receptive to his genetics, and if that is the case then they both will have a lot to deal with.

Carefully he grips her hands and concentrates, pulling the essence of stone out of her and into his own palms, absorbing it easily. When her fingers are pale again, he looks up and frowns slightly. “This came about because you were provoked?” he asks.

When Star nods, he gives a sigh. “I am not surprised that it would be triggered by temper; the shift of emotions can do strange things to all of us. I do not know if the condition is permanent or not, but it’s certainly not unexpected, not with all that has passed between us. We both _knew_ some of the risks.”

She looks mutinous, but Loki shakes his head. “No, arguing now will not change matters. The fact that you were able to limit it to your hands shows some degree of control over the metamorphosis, so I will help you learn to master it to a greater degree. If you feel it to be a danger then I will have my mother take you to the healers, who will be able to erase all trace of the Jotunn that resides within your structure, but . . . I think you _are_ capable of mastering it. You have the spirit and the discipline.”

He glances at the Snakkestein and picks it up. “This charm must have retained some of the power of drawing my brother within it. Fortunate for us.” Loki sets it down again and adds, “I have missed you. The land I am in now is strange, and I sense something there that is as out-of-time as myself. I suspect it is one of the gods that the Midgardians there worship.”

It’s a great deal for Star to absorb all at once. But she realizes she doesn’t want any dealings with Asgard if she can possibly help it -- her life is complicated enough as it is, without bringing more unknowns into the picture. “Well, if you think I can learn to control it, I guess it’s not necessary to get your Mom involved.” 

She wonders if she dares tell him about the nightmares as well, or if it’s better to just focus on one problem at a time. Star reaches to take his hand, studying the spots of clay. “I missed you, too. You mentioned something about a ‘masterpiece’ . . . dare I hope you meant the Sphinx or something?” She looks up at his face and adds with a smirk, “Wow, I think you’re wearing more makeup than I am, Boy George.” 

Loki senses she is teasing him, and gives a crooked smile. “It is rather dramatic, but it helps to cut the glare from the sun, which is merciless at times. I’m not used to being this lightly clad, either, but to pass as one of them, I must. Currently I am known as Usi the Sculptor, and I am working on the cast of a statue.” He holds out his hands, studying them before adding, “I have some talent for it, since clay is merely stone in a wetter form.” 

When his pet shoots him a look tinged with affection and a little yearning, Loki licks his lips. “Come _with_ me,” he coaxes her. “My house overlooks the  Nile and the evenings there are beautiful. When I look into the night sky I can see nearly everything Heimdall sees. I will show you the great city of  Memphis , and you will see sights that do your Midgardian ancestors proud, my flower.”

Even though it’s barely been a week in Earth time since she saw him last, Star is very tempted to take him up on his offer. The end of semester is approaching fast, and that means many extra stresses. Piles of paper to grade, panicking and whining students to deal with -- it never ceases to amaze her how every term several students will fail nearly every course element, and instead of working harder to make sure they pass the course, they wait until the end to whine for makeup work instead -- she’s sick and tired of it already.

She smirks at his tiny goatee and gently tugs on it to draw him down for a deep, slow kiss. “As long as you make sure you return me to this point in time so I’m not missed, as usual,” she declares breathlessly once they part, “yes, I’ll come with you.” He grins and kisses her once more, stealing her air.

When he allows her to breathe again, she frowns as part of her earlier thought comes back to her: _The end of term_ . . . She looks up at him. “I just realized, we’ve been . . .seeing each other for nearly a year. Well, as I count time _here_ , anyway.” It had been the end of term exactly one year ago, when she’d lost her baby, and her hubby had lost her job, and she’d first started posting those angry missives to Loki online. Which the god of mischief himself had chosen to answer.   
_ A year,  _ she marvels.

Loki’s eyes widen and he smiles, feeling a sense of delight well up in him. A year is a small thing to his way of thinking, but he realizes that in terms of a mortal it’s definitely a milestone and one to be celebrated. He takes her hands and bringing them to his lips, lightly kisses each one before speaking. “We should celebrate, certainly. I do have a gift for you, but it is not here with me. Are you ready?”  
At her nod, Loki concentrates and they are surrounded by a pulse of hellishly green light before vanishing in its center, leaving behind only a few dust motes.

They arrive in the cool shadows of the workshop, and Loki is grateful that his assistant is out for the moment. He reaches for Star and holds her as she shudders, re-orienting herself. Years of travel have inured Loki to the jump between points of time, but it’s more difficult for his beloved, and he accepts that. When she finally raises her head, he notes she’s already beginning to sweat a bit.

“A change of clothing. This way,” he leads her through doorways deeper into the building and through a well-kept courtyard to a far room where he opens a cedar chest to pull out a long thin gown of off-white linen, handing it to his pet. “I had it made in case you came,” he tells her questioning look. “It’s best to be prepared.” 

She nods, and as she changes, Loki makes his way to the little hidden panel next to the bed, opening it and fishing inside among the jewels there. His hand touches what he seeks and he pulls it out, smiling to himself. When Star moves over to his side, Loki takes her slender wrist and slides the cuff onto it.

She stares at it in disbelief for a moment. She’s sure it’s made of pure gold (Loki would hardly settle for less), intricately worked into the shape of a bird at the top of the cuff. That alone would have impressed her, but that’s not all; the bird’s body is inlaid with tiny diamonds and rubies, and the final touch is a large green stone, smooth and unfaceted, positioned above the bird’s head. 

“It is...truly beautiful. Thank you,” she smiles at him and stretches up for another kiss. She looks down at herself and the dress. It leaves her arms bare, and is slit deeply up both sides, clinging closely to her body. When she looks up Loki is studying her with obvious appreciation.

“It fits well,” she notes. It’s also much cooler than her jeans and shirt, which Star is grateful for. It’s hot here in Ancient Egypt, though no worse than summers back home, and unlike home, at least it’s a _dry_ heat.

She glances past Loki and out a window, her jaw dropping open. The view is...stunning. 

Loki watches her take in the panorama and smiles to himself. It’s a magnificent sight, with the blue water sparkling in the sunlight. Sailboats are moving across it, and there are herons on the near bank, so white they hurt the eyes. He comes up behind her and rests his hands on her shoulders, letting her lean back against him. “The commerce of a mighty nation move on that,” he tells her. “Given how little these people have in the way of engineering, it is marvelous what is being built here, my dove. Later when the sun sets we will go to the roof and watch it, but for now I have a statue to finish. You need a name as well, if I am to explain your arrival, and introduce you to the servants you will direct.”

“Hmmm, a name.” Star had been into Egyptology at one time, and she remembers herself and her best friend (who had been obsessed with baby name books for some reason) looking up variants of their names in other cultures. She furrows her brow as she tries to remember the Egyptian version of hers -- her real name, not this ‘Star’ pet name Loki uses for her. _Ja-something. Jam-something. ...ah, that was it!_

“How about ‘Jamila’?” she suggests, and Loki nods his agreement, though if he knows the significance, he keeps it to himself. 

“Can I see the statue?” she adds, curious about his artistic side. And a little jealous, too. In her teen years she used to draw and paint, though she found producing anything she judged to be good hadn’t come easily. But since becoming a parent, she’s had to put all that aside. There’s no time for creative pursuits, except for the fanfic-writing, which she has fortunately managed to carve out time for somehow.

“Jamila you shall be,” he agrees, aware of how fitting the name is, “My wife. Our families are from  Cyrene in the north, which will explain our somewhat fair coloring. We have come here to  Memphis only recently.” Taking her hand Loki tugs her to a little alcove where tiny clay pots sit. He lifts her chin and looks at her carefully for a moment. “You need to look the part. I will braid your locks and here are the unguents for your eyes; black above, green below. There is also a bowl of water to wash your fingers afterwards.”

His pet opens her mouth to protest, but Loki kisses her objection away, adding, “It took me a week to learn how to apply it properly myself, but it does help against the sun. Quickly; my assistant Ata will return soon and I will need to be done with the cat.”

Loki doesn’t mention that Ata is on a mission for him; a quest for information about the Vizer and his household. Better to tell his pet later, after she has had a chance to get familiar with this time and place, he tells himself. His pet is forever cautioning him, and while he appreciates that, Loki is aware that it would not take much on his part to rule this city if he chose. The fact that he _hasn’t_ chosen to do so makes him wonder if he is growing fond of these Midgardians.

Though her personal philosophy on makeup has always been that if people can tell you’re wearing it, you’re wearing too much, Loki has a point about fitting in. He watches her apply the eye makeup and braids her locks with a speed that tempts her to tease him about his intimate knowledge of female hairstyling.

He leads her to another room, filled with clay pots of various sizes and in different stages of being thrown, fired and glazed. There are also various figurines and small statues in shapes she recognizes: Anubis, Isis, and Osiris, among others.  
The biggest statue of all, dominating the room, is a stone one of a cat wearing a collar with an ankh. It’s fairly impressive, as the statue is as tall as Star is, and probably _much_ heavier.

“Is that Bastet?” she asks Loki, hiding a smile at his surprise. He nods, and Star glances back at the statue. “Nice work,” she says sincerely. She cocks her head, admiring the statue, her eyes returning to its collar.

“It also reminds me . . . I’m missing something. Haven’t worn it in quite awhile, actually.” She turns to Loki and trails a finger suggestively across her neck, smiling up at him and batting her kohl-rimmed eyes.

Loki laughs. “Is that a request for more jewelry? We are certainly in the right place and time for it, although I wonder . . .” he leans towards her to hold her gaze, “if it is what you truly want. In our year together it has become clear to me that I cannot command you at all, and that any attempt to do so causes strife between us. I will bind you, and sweetly torture you, my prize. I will tease you and fulfill your needs in many exotic ways, but any collar you wear is more symbolic than factual. And believe me; we are standing in a civilization that is borne on the backs of _true_ slaves.”

He hopes she sees his comment for what it is; a declaration of equality and affection long overdue between them. Loki knows that despite his use of the term ‘pet’ that Star is certainly his plaything only by choice, and that should she choose to end their relationship she can. She has well-earned that respectful consideration, that right. Loki watches her face, noting the shift of expressions across it as she thinks about what he’s just said.

She thinks about it as she reaches for his hand, deliberately running the ball of her thumb over the scars of the bite-mark. Because it’s still there, and she knows Loki could have used his magic to heal it completely, without leaving a single mark, any time he wanted to. But it’s still there, the scars shiny and white, a reminder to himself it seems.

“You’re right of course,” she concedes. “It was easier to pretend I was fine with the Master/Slave dynamic before I knew you were _real_. When I thought you were just someone teasing me from the other side of the world, with promises that were never going to fulfilled. In reality, there’s probably more about it that squicks me--” here she glances at Loki, and he seems to understand what she means, “-than turns me on. But . . .” She lowers her gaze to the floor, trying to find the words to express what she wants.

“I _want_ to wear it, because you gave it to me. I don’t have any problem with it being ‘symbol’ rather than ‘fact’. If you prefer to think of it as a token of our bond, of our . . . feelings for each other, rather than a traditional slave collar, so be it. The . . . idiosyncrasies of our relationship can be whatever WE want them to be, and that necklace can have whatever meaning we want it to have.” She shakes her head slightly, somewhat dissatisfied with what she just said. Is she even making any kind of sense?

Loki gives a low rumble of a laugh and brushes his mouth against hers as he speaks. “It means _much_ to me that you wish to wear my gift, that you will proudly display my claim upon you, my queen. There is a selfish, high-born desire within me to show you off and make others jealous of us. Petty? Yes, but having lived in the shadows of my brother and father, I think that I-- _we_ \--deserve to flaunt ourselves once in a while. And our bond has weathered much; deepened in our time together. You have forced me to look at myself in ways I had not before. You have given so much to me and I am . . . grateful.”

He’s more than that as well; the linen between them is thin and the heat of Star’s body is making his own respond here in the cool shadows of the workshop. There is something too, about the exotic coloring around her eyes that makes her mysterious and beautiful to him and Loki gauges whether or not he can slip away with her back to the bedroom before Ata returns.

There’s a devilish light in Loki’s eyes as he runs a cool finger along her neck, and the heavy stones of her collar - necklace? - settle into place. He reaches for her hips, pressing their lower bodies together, and his desire is very obvious.

She looks from under her lashes at him. “I thought you had some work to do, Mr. Usi?” _I thought I had a one-track mind!_

He cocks his head, considering, but not for long. “There is always time for brief dalliances,” he smirks, tugging her out of the room by the hand and back towards the bedroom area.

“Master?” comes the call and cursing himself, Loki manages a half-smile to Star--Jamila as he must call her now--before turning to face the slight figure hovering in the doorway of the workshop. Ata has returned, and by good manners is loathe to interrupt him, but already has. Loki tries to look pleased by the young man’s arrival but it truly is inconvenient. He hears faint snickers behind him as he turns. “Ata.”

The boy, slim and nervous, gives a little bow. “I have news, but if you are . . . occupied . . . .” there is a question in his tone, and Loki makes his smile a bit wider.

“I am, and with your mistress. Jamila my lotus, my treasure, this is our servant Ata. Your mistress arrived only a short while ago, and I have helped her unpack,” he tells the boy, the lies rolling easily from his silvered tongue. Quick deceits smooth away the concern on Ata’s face, and he gracefully prostrates himself before Star.

“Mistress Jamila, I am yours to command,” the boy murmurs earnestly, and rises a moment later, dark eyes bright. “Master Usi has spoken highly of you before, and that you might come to visit.”

Loki feels Star arch an eyebrow at him, and he coughs to cover his sheepishness. “I may have mentioned you a time or two.” To Ata he adds, “Tell Bes and Oon to come to the hall immediately so they may receive their mistress properly. And bring the Beast as well, if he can be rounded up.”

Ata’s face falls a little, and he rubs his arms. “The Beast? Um, yes Master.” As he leaves some of his exuberance is gone, and Loki shoots a sidelong look at Star, who clearly has a question on her lips. 

“Ata and the Beast do not get along,” Loki sighs. “And as for us, I fear we will have to wait until tonight for a proper reunion of our lusts. Come, I will introduce you to our chef and housekeeper, beloved.”

Star wonders what exactly Loki has said about her, and whether she dares corner Ata on that topic later. Let’s see, that she can turn to stone and battle demons? That she’s ‘quick to anger’? That she has an insatiable capacity for _schtupping_ sculptors? She has to hide a snicker at the last notion.

She still finds it bizarre and hilarious by turns, Loki’s reliance on servants. But he won’t understand, ‘highborn’ as he is, and she doesn’t want to create tensions within his household or between the two of them. He knows her feelings on the matter anyway. 

As she takes Loki’s hand and walks beside him, she _does_ have to ask the obvious next question, however: “‘The Beast’? Please tell me that isn’t the chef!” A mental image of Anubis chained to a stove crosses her mind, though given Loki’s penchant for universal domination; she would not put it past him!

“No, Bes is the chef,” Loki replies. “The Beast is the creature who found me in the desert when I first arrived. We had a _slight_ contest of wills that I won, and now he is the guardian of the house.”

Loki doesn’t mention that the jackal was drawn by the scent of blood--his blood--and that the contest ended only when Loki growled savagely enough to make the golden-pelted animal roll and expose his belly. Time enough for tales later, after more pressing exchanges.

They pass into a lovely antechamber with a skylight that allows natural sunshine through, and Loki sees the two servants waiting politely to be waved forth. He does so, making introductions quietly. The short, heavyset man with the slightly stained shendty bows, tugging on his beard in submission. “Bes, my lady. I will keep you well-fed and healthy.” His voice is a low, scratchy whisper, and despite his jeweled collar the white scars on his throat are visible.

To her credit his pet nods and gives a gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“And I am Oon, first servant of the house,” the woman tells them, her lined face slightly worried, her iron-grey hair in neat braids. “When my lady is rested, I will be honored to bring you the household account scrolls. Is your handmaid here with you?”

“My lady has left hers behind,” Loki interrupts, “And a poor thing she was too. You will hire one tomorrow to dress and attend your mistress.”

“Yes, Master Usi,” Oon nods, smiling. “My niece will be glad of the position.”

“Good,” Loki nods. He turns to Star and adds, “I hired Bes away from the house of a priest who did not appreciate him, and he in turn found Oon, who was being dismissed from a merchant’s household. They have been with me these months and I appreciate their worth.”

At the mention of months, Star looks puzzled, but Loki sees she’s bright enough not to question him in front of the staff, so he gives a wave to dismiss them and when Bes and Oon are gone, he moves to one of the chairs and drops himself into it, sighing a little. Before he can say anything, the sound of paws on stone interrupts them, and a sleek jackal surges into the room, barely held back by Ata, who is clearly afraid of the animal. The jackal pauses, looks to Star, and moves towards her, giving a little whine of fear.

Star blinks as Ata brings the canine closer. A ‘watch-jackal’? Now she’s officially seen everything. She has about a million questions and more than a drop of unease, but the animal seems far more afraid than she is. So she beckons Ata closer and hopes jackals are enough like dogs where it counts.

She allows ‘the Beast’ to sniff her hand, before employing her WMD when it comes to animals she’s meeting for the first time -- a good ear-scratch. She has made more than one dog and cat (and on one memorable occasion, a chinchilla) her friend with a good ear-scratch, and judging by the way the jackal soon sighs and rests its head on her knee with its eyes half-closed in ecstasy, she hasn’t lost her touch. She glances up to see Loki smiling at her and Ata looking more than a little awed. 

“You need a better name than ‘the Beast’,” she says to it, urging Ata to copy her scratching technique. Cautiously, he does, smiling as the animal presses its skull back against his fingers. “Good boy,” she praises the animal, though judging by Ata’s reaction, he thinks she meant _him_.

“Perhaps Anubis?” she suggests, hoping that’s not blasphemy here. From what she remembers that’s the Greek name for that particular god. The jackal rolls onto its side, baring its belly, and Star is happy to scratch that for him, too, watching his back leg jerk in response. She doesn’t have any pets at home - A.J. is enough work! - so when she’s around other peoples’ pets, she tends to pay them a lot of attention. She likes to think of it as ‘meeting her quota of petting for the year’.

“He would be honored,” Loki murmurs leaning forward from his chair, pleased that Star is comfortable with the clearly delighted animal. Ata too seems in awe of the lady’s skill, and Loki supposes the beginning of a crush is in the making here. Before it can grow, he waves the boy away, adding, “Have Oon buy two rabbits from the market for our . . . Anubis.”

Ata nods and gently tugs the lead; the jackal rises reluctantly and trots out, sneezing a little, tail waving. As they go, Loki looks up to Star, smiling. “I was very nearly jealous.”

Her laugh is good, and he motions for her to sit in the chair next to his, allowing her to settle in before speaking again. “Time seems to bend here in Midgard,” he tells her. “I arrived here in armor at night several months ago, out in the desert. I wasn’t afraid,” Loki assures her, “since it was clear that _I_ was the most dangerous thing out there. In due time I arrived in the city and became an object of curiosity. Most thought me a soldier of the north, lost from my comrades, and with the Beast--Anubis--at my side, I might have walked into the palace easily, but without my magic at full strength it would have been foolhardy to attempt any sort of overthrow.” 

“So I sold my leather and armor, and began to create pieces out of the mud and stone along the banks of the river outside. I have some skill for it,” Loki admitted hesitantly. “My mother taught me, and there are almost as many statues here as in Asgard, so I am never short of examples, even if the styles are somewhat austere. Still, I have been able to purchase this house and live well as a sculptor for the moment. I might even be content, if it were not for your absence, and the fact that the Vizer here is a dead man who walks among the living.”

His last sentence makes Star blink, but she wants to focus on something else he just said, first: “Well, I’m here now. And I would say you have _more_ than ‘some skill’ for sculpting,” Star contradicts him, poking him gently in the ribs. “My warrior-artist,” she says admiringly, and she can tell Loki is trying not to preen as he takes her hand. “You definitely have a talent for it, and I am _very_ jealous that you are living out the life of an artisan. You have to promise me you’ll let me try to make something on your pottery wheel at some point. I haven’t made anything like that in _years_. . . it’ll probably _suck,_ but as I told you once I like doing things with my hands.”

Loki smirks and she can tell he’s having decidedly _un-_ artistic thoughts involving her hands, and she rolls her eyes, pretending annoyance as her gaze wanders the antechamber, admiring the little statues placed in little alcoves all around the room. His work as well? She’ll ask him later.

Reluctantly, she allows her focus to shift back to the less-pleasant element of his recitation. Memories of her latest round of nightmares cause a shiver to unfurl up her spine, though she does her best to cover her unease.  “First the Draugr, and now this? I didn’t know you had a fetish for confronting the undead.” Her tone is light, but she soon realizes her free hand is white-knuckled around the end of the arm-rest of her chair. She does her best to relax, loosening and unwinding her fingers one by one, hoping Loki has not noticed, though she’s not sure why she doesn’t want to show that weakness to him. 

Loki gives a disgruntled sigh. “Not living, but not dead, either. The Draugr was a monster, easily recognized for what she was. The Vizer though . . . he wears the skin of a man and commands the hall of the Pharaoh. He’s not of flesh and blood although I suspect he was, once. He bothers me, my jewel, because he should not be in a position of power, directing the fate of Midgardians. I suspect my mother and possibly Heimdall are directing my travels towards these little points of unrest, and I am both irritated and . . . intrigued. Perhaps it takes a monster to _know_ a monster.”

Shaking the melancholy away, he turns and toys with Star’s hand, tickling and teasing it gently in unspoken invitation, admiring the delicate strength in them. “We have other matters of greater interest though, and in this noontime it is my habit to rest. Come, join me and let us re-discover each other, my queen.”  
There’s so much she could jump on what he just said - that he’s NOT a monster, that even if Frigga and Heimdall are directing him, _he’s_ the one choosing to go the heroic route, etc. - but he responds better when she doesn’t play therapist with him.

She rises slowly to her feet, holding his gaze the entire time, then moves to pull her dress up just enough to straddle his lap, his gaze hot on her. Star could swear she sees a crimson glint in the backs of his pupils, but the hands sliding up the bared skin of her thighs are very warm. 

“Warrior, artist, _and_ hero,” she sighs dramatically. “How can I even hope to measure up?” He opens his mouth but she halts his retort with a kiss, allowing her tongue to dance against his. He groans endearingly as Star slips her hands down his naked chest, her fingernails stopping to circle one of his nipples, and his hands tighten their grip on her legs.

Star kisses him over and over, until she has to pause to breathe, but Loki doesn’t let her move back much, so their foreheads are still pressing together. “I thought you had a cat statue to finish?” she says, half reminder and half teasing. He does what he wants, right?

“I do,” Loki tells her with a growl of desire, “later.”

It’s easy enough to carry his pet back to the sleeping chamber. Loki knows his household will not disturb him unless it’s a critical matter, so he sets Star down and closes the thick reed screen across the doorway before pouncing on her as lightly as he can. She laughs and moves to elude him, but teasingly, and it isn’t long before he hikes her skirt up high to reveal her body in the filtered light.

He kisses it, starting at her collarbones and moving down across her perky chest and lean planes, letting the heat of his lips and tongue make her skin pebble up in anticipation. By the time Loki lets his beard graze against her thighs, both he and Star are breathing erratically, their sensual tension high. She leans against the headboard and allows him to part her knees, the heated gleam of her kohl-lined gaze hungry.

The brush of his beard is half tickle and half scratch, and Star purrs as he allows it to graze against her mound. “That goatee is growing on me.” At his puzzled look, she adds: “In a manner of speaking . . .  Never mind.” His braid has fallen forward over his shoulder and she reaches to wind it around her hand like a rope.   
She tugs but he ignores her attempts to guide him, his tongue darting quick and wet against her inner thigh. Star bites her lip, braced for the slow torture of which he is a master, and he doesn’t disappoint. The surprise is the cooling breath of ice he exhales between her legs, and she gasps out a laugh.

Star thinks she knows a better way to _motivate_ him. Tugging on his braid again to get his attention, she reaches between her own legs to stroke herself, spreading the slickness already there around in slow, widening circles, her head falling back and a whimper escaping her throat as her fingers graze over her nub. He’s watching closely, his breaths still cool and caressing her damp skin. 

Carefully, he bends down and lets his tongue circle just behind her moving fingers, following the touch of her pleasure and allowing the teasing tip of it to flicker against her stiffening skin. The brush of her fur against his nose and the rich delicious scent of her sends urgent jolts through his body, and it’s an effort to stay focused when his own responses demand action. Star’s inner thighs brush against his cheeks and Loki slides his hands under her pert ass, all the better to hold it as he indulges himself for a while longer.

Gently he nudges her hand away and takes over the entire action of arousing her, his tongue by turns cooler or warmer as it flicks and probes, strokes and circles along the inner side of her lips to play merry havoc across her little bud. Star’s hips begin to rock and he hears her breathing speed up, but against his splayed grip she cannot move far, and he rides out her first orgasm, laying the flat of his tongue against her for a few moments and then begins again, building her to a second, softer climax.

There is a certain smug satisfaction in being able to drive his pet slightly mad this way, and Loki takes pride in knowing that if he’s any good at this, it’s because Star is so very responsive to him. Foreplay begins with a look; a smirk; a breath against the skin, and so often ends with a growl, a nip and the deep mindless rush of pleasure so intense it whites out the brain. The two of them are well-suited to each other, and for that, Loki counts himself lucky.

Still, his body is aching now, his prick unbearably stiff as it throbs, rising between his thighs and dripping. He slips a hand to it, stroking gently as his own touch intensifies his need.

Star blinks sweat and swirling flickers of light out of her eyes, watching dazed for a few seconds as Loki strokes himself, though his gaze is still on her. “My turn,” she informs him, moving lazily as she reaches for him, brushing his hand aside from himself as he did to her a moment ago.

It’s her time to smirk and push on his shoulder til he rolls over onto his back, giving her access. His black-rimmed eyes widen as she brings her hand between her legs to collect some of the slick juices, using them to ease the slip of her fingers along his shaft.

She teases him, taking her time. Brushing her fingertips in slow trails up and down the pulsing length, rubbing tiny circles on the sensitive spot at the base of the head, running the ball of her thumb against the slippery hole at the tip. His hands slowly clench and unclench the sheets, sweat rising like tiny diamonds on his forehead.

His hands twitch towards her but Star is quicker, moving to straddle him and guiding him slowly inside her. He rumbles in his throat, trying to stay still, to let her take him deeper and deeper at the pace she’s dictating, but she can tell he’s on the verge of wresting control back from her. 

Loki fights the urge to be patient, but his hands surge to cup her hipbones, gripping them and pulling his pet down against him. Star gives a groan and braces her own against his chest as the rhythm of their bodies picks up speed. Between their heat and their sweat, something erotically primitive surges in their sweat-tinged union, and Loki manages to savor it for a little while, finally surrendering to the shiver of inevitable pleasure building through his prick, a mix of chill and heat, raw and undeniable, throbbing in time with his pulse. He curls his fingers against her slick skin, wanting to mark her and holding back from doing so. Loki draws in a breath and then he feels himself come, _hard_ , the thick and sullen spurts splashing deep within his love.

Star’s fingers scrabble against his damp chest and he feels the walls of her cleft clench around him even as hot trickles of his seed slither down his shaft to puddle in his fur, spasm by spasm.

After a moment, Loki draws a shaky breath and chuckles softly, a hand coming up to cup her cheek, brushing away droplets that roll down from her hairline and eyes. “Would that I could fill you thus _every_ night, my jewel,” he murmurs hoarsely, feeling a pang of melancholy even as the words leave his lips. It’s not her fault she can only be with him a while, and that they will never have  . . . . Loki tries to cut off the thought but it slips through his mind anyway.

_ That they will never have a child _ . 

He pulls her face closer, kissing her forehead and cheeks to cover his own momentary bleakness. Where this odd desire comes from he doesn’t know--Loki has never considered himself a good father, and although he has produced offspring, they are not truly family in any sense of the Asgardian or Midgardian term. Perhaps it is simple loneliness finally catching up to him. 

“I know,” she answers simply, weaving her arms around his neck and kissing him back before she rolls away, fanning a hand in a fruitless attempt to cool herself.  
When she looks back at him, there’s a strange, sorrowful look on his face, though he smoothes his expression once he realizes she is watching. It’s hard not to ask him what’s going on in his head, but she’d prefer to wait and let him talk about it when he is ready. If he’s ever ready. If she’s learned nothing after a year, it’s that trying to get him to _see_ anything he’s not ready to see is doomed to fail.

She wonders at the significance of his earlier words. That some outside force is trying to set him on this particular path, on course to collide with all of these monsters. He interprets it someone trying to convince him of his own freakishness, she knows, but what if she’s the one in the right and it is a test of sorts, to see if he’ll play hero? Because so far, he has. 

Nobody made him take on the Draugr, and no one is forcing him to battle this Vizer. _Come to think of it, other than our bedroom antics what_ mischief, _exactly, has he been perpetrating recently?_

Star stretches languidly and reaches for him again, stroking her hand along his arm. “Thank you for the warm welcome, but I don’t want to keep you from your work. I’m not going anywhere.” _Not for a little while anyway._ She smiles happily at him and snuggles closer to his side.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Star face a new enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not ours, and we don’t make money from it. *sighs*

He works steadily, shaping the last parts of the stone almost by instinct, moving around the large long cat without much hesitation at all. Cats are elegantly simple, and Loki knows that the commission for this one will be enough to buy not only goats for Bes’ kitchen, but also provide enough to go shopping with his pet. There are jewels to be purchased and people to speak with; with that in mind Loki finishes the piece and leaves Ata to polish it smooth with sand and water. A thankless job, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind and even sings as he works.

Loki cleans up down at the riverbank, washing himself and wringing out his shendyt before shaking himself from wet to merely damp. He walks back up to the house. The sun is an hour from setting and the heat has faded to a red-gold glow along the city. A second wind rises and the market vendors are calling last minute temptations to those headed home for dinner. On his way, Loki picks up four fat doves and passes them to Oon, who in turn will give them to Bes for preparation.

“The mistress and I will go to the temple to give thanks for her safe arrival,” Loki murmurs, clean and made up once more. “If Thut comes asking about his Cat, tell him he may come tomorrow to collect it.”

Oon bows. “It will be done. Will you and the mistress require the Bea--Anubis?”

“I think we will be safe enough,” Loki assures her. He knows the streets passingly well, and holds enough stature to intimidate most would-be troublemakers. Only once has he had to kill, and there were no witnesses to that failed robbery. “What wines do we have?”

“Some date, fresh, and some made with oranges from the ports,” Oon murmurs.   
“Have the date wine ready then when we return,” he tells her, and goes in search of Star, his sandaled steps light. She is not in the bedroom, nor in the antechamber; instead he finds Star in the courtyard looking out across the Nile and her profile is as still as one of his statues.

It’s peaceful here, and the views are utterly breathtaking, but Star finds herself unsettled. At home, she knows most people think of her as ‘driven’. She’s constantly _doing_ something. If she’s not taking care of A.J., she’s cooking or cleaning. Or working on something for school. Or writing fanfic. In the summer, it has become her habit to sit out on her tiny balcony and enjoy the sunshine (if there is any that day), but beyond that, just sitting around doing nothing is very rare for her.

The closest she ever comes is on vacation, when they’re staying at hotels and there’s usually nothing for her to do except manage A.J. That alone had been a job-and-a-half when her daughter was younger, and constant vigilance on Star’s part had been required to make sure A.J. didn’t pull lamps off tables or stick her fingers into electrical sockets, or eat pebbles off the floor (ah, the joys of parenting). That’s been getting easier as her daughter gets older, however.

But here with Loki, things are different. With the exception of their little encounter with the Draugr, there is nothing much for Star to do. Except _think_ , and that is not always the best thing for someone who already tends towards rumination.

So she smiles gratefully at the sound of Loki’s footsteps, but she doesn’t turn, waiting until he flows around her like water, his arms wrapping around her middle and his taut-muscled front pressed to her back. 

“All done?” she asks him. It really hadn’t taken him that long to finish the statue, Star knows, but seconds move slowly when there isn’t much in the way of distraction. She’d watched him work for a time (until she realized he was becoming self-conscious about it), she’d wandered the house, she’d visited Anubis for another ear-scratch, sure, but for the remaining time she’s just been standing here.   
Well, she supposes she could have looked at the household accounts or whatever it was that Oon mentioned earlier, but . . . doing nothing is preferable to doing math, as far as she’s concerned. 

Loki gives a little hum of agreement. “My customer will be delighted, and want to haggle but the price is fair. At the moment, you and I are going to the temple, ostensibly to give thanks for your arrival, but in truth, to talk to someone there, someone who works in the Vizier’s household. And tomorrow, we shall shop for _you_ . . . clothing and perfumes, jewels and any such treasure as takes your fancy. It will give us an opportunity to look around--perhaps you will see what I have missed in this mysterious land.”

His pet nods and turns in his arms, looking into his face with that knowing way she has when she is concerned but holding her tongue. He manages a little smile, bending to rub his nose companionably with hers. “I still have two Acts I may do before the day is over; three if we are out past midnight, so you have little to fear. Speak, and tell me what bothers you.”

“I’m not afraid,” she assures him. “I just feel . . . I tend to have a lot of responsibilities and things to do back home. In my other life, I mean. But when I’m with you, it’s pretty much the opposite. I can’t stay chained to your bed the whole time -- though for brief periods is A-OK.” she clarifies as Loki smirks. 

“But other than that, I feel like I don’t have much of a role. I don’t know how women spend their time here. There are no computers or Internet, and I can’t read any of the books here to help pass the time. So I guess I feel kind of . . . lost.” She shrugs.

Loki looks at her a moment longer, feeling a strange blend of compassion and exasperation. Star is out of her time, true, but certainly intelligent enough to focus on her strengths (of which she as many) and blend in. He’s watched her do it before, and at the same time he understands the dilemma. It’s not easy to re-create yourself anew, especially in a world that might view you as dangerous or threatening.

“What do you like to do . . . besides ride me hard and drain me dry?” he adds, just to see her go pink. She does, snorting a little as well, and it’s good to see some of the fire come back into her expression. “I have seen instruments in your possession, perhaps music? Come, as we go to the temple we will talk.”

He takes her hand and they set out through the darkened house and out to the road, where the night has begun to settle on the land. Above, the full beauty of the Bifrost gleams amid the other stars, and Loki glances up, feeling on a small pang of wistfulness at the sight. His pet glances up and around, her eyes widening at the millions of stars now easily visible, and her fingers squeeze his. It takes getting used to, this view of the heavens free of city lights and glare. Loki laughs softly and tucks her arm under his.

“Come, the temple is this way.”

They stroll up the darkened street, passing buildings on either side. Lamps and other lights in windows and doorways make it easy to see, and although the sun has gone down, many shops are still doing brisk business. Loki points a few of them out to Star. “The incense shop where they have cones of spices and sage; the weaver’s shop, the little stall where one may buy caged birds for home or sacrifice . . . and the oracle. He’s a fraud, but spins a good line of patter. All of them seem to have their uses here in this city. Ah, the spice merchant . . .” Loki tugs her inside, where a few burning lamps illuminate a small clay room.

One end has baskets stacked on tables, and the scents of pepper, saffron, cinnamon and cumin is nearly overwhelming. A roly-poly little woman with dark eyes looks up and smiles at Loki, then at Star. “Usi. Here for more clove?”

It’s hard not to gape at the sheer number of spices. More than Star’s ever seen in one place. _Eat your heart out, chain supermarkets!_ She wonders if she can convince Loki to let her take some of them back to her own time. Huge pieces of jewelry will raise eyebrows, but a few new spices certainly won’t.

But Loki - _Usi_ \- is introducing her to the shopkeeper. “Jamilla, my wife,” Loki is saying, and even though it’s entirely for show it’s so bizarre to hear Loki calling her that. The woman bows, the corners of her eyes creasing as her smile widens. “Of course. Master Usi speaks of you often. I was wondering when you would be joining him here.”

Star barely restrains the impulse to raise an eyebrow at Loki, though one impulse she can’t deny is to joke: “Anything he may have told you, I assure you it is all lies.” But Star smiles to let the woman know she’s not serious.

“I wish _my_ husband would lie about _me_ that way,” the woman sighs, “instead of wasting his time with fishing. Maybe then we would have more children. Ah well,” Even as she speaks the woman puts a few twigs of cinnamon bark into a little linen bag and ties it with string, repeating the action for cloves. She pulls down a few of the bunches of drying cilantro from the rack overhead and ties off some as well and looks to Loki, who makes a copper deben appear in a little sleight of hand.   
“Too much,” she murmurs, but she is pleased, and Loki gives her a smile.

“Then credit for Oon or Bes tomorrow. Tell me, is Nefi still looking for an assistant?”

“I think so,” the woman nods. “Does your pretty wife have skill with jewelry?”   
Loki slips an arm around Star. “She does. If you see him before I do, tell him to come to the house with his tools. Thank you Eme.”

“Thank you, Usi, Jamilla. May Ra bless you with children,” Eme calls after them as they step out again.

Before Star can speak, Loki does. “You _do_ have skill with jewelry; it’s a bit like carving and a bit like drawing. You make molds and pour the gold, then shape it. Nefi is old but patient and if you don’t like that particular trade, we’ll find something else. In the meantime . . .”

The pylons of the temple tower a short distance ahead and even now there are people moving in and out of the tall doorway. Burning braziers of scented grasses light the way, and Loki guides her along, humming a little. He stops before a lean little man at the doorway and holds out the bag of cloves. “To offer in thanks for the safe arrival of my Jamilla.”

The priest looks from the bag to Star and back again before giving a slow nod. “I see she is precious to you: proceed, sculptor.”

They step deeper into the temple, and go down a hall that has many rooms on each side. At the far end is a room with a small series of steps before a looming and large bas relief of a figure on the wall. The god depicted there is _unmistakably_ male; his erection rises like a huge wand, and Loki cannot help but be amused all over again as he bends to leave the bag of cloves on the steps.

“Oh great Min,” he begins, feeling his pet frantically stifling her giggles.   
“Dude needs a BJ, not a bag of cloves,” Star whispers under her breath, and Loki stifles a chuckle as he continues.

“I thank you for the safe arrival of my wife, my desert flower, Jamilla,” Loki intones, though there’s a spark of unmistakable mischief in his eye. _A god worshipping a god, how completely ridiculous,_ Star thinks.

Biting her lip hard, she does her best to school her expression. “I beg you to grant both her and me success with our endeavours while she is here,” Loki adds. “And,” he appends further, in a lower and more conspiratorial tone, “that her appetite for carnal delights is _never_ sated.”

She claps a hand over her mouth to silence the snort that wants to emerge, and then she tugs on Loki’s arm until he leans down and she can whisper in his ear. “You know, there was a period of time in Ancient Egypt when the people worshipped their gods using sexual acts. Fertility rites and things like that. Something tells me Mr. Min there would approve,” she teases. _Mind you, I don’t even know when in Ancient Egypt we are. Maybe those practices are long over by now._

Loki, clearly amused, is about to say something but they both turn in unison at the soft scrape of sandals approaching behind them. 

Three people are passing by, moving to another alcove to worship, and Loki recognizes the Vizier and his two assistants. Like many of the people in this land, the Vizier is slight and physically unassuming, but when he turns to glance towards them, his dark eyes hold an eerie hint of yellow in them. He pauses the group, and waits.

Loki steels himself, slipping his hand into his pet’s and stepping forward into a graceful bow. “Vizier Usef.”

“Usi,” the Vizier replies, his voice surprisingly deep for so lean a man wearing so much gold. “Interesting to find _you_ here this time of night.”

“My wife and I are giving thanks to Min,” Loki murmurs, fighting the urge to snap at the other man’s bored tone. Even at this range the Vizier’s breath reeks of the grave, and his assistants look terrified.

“To Min,” the Vizier muses, an unpleasant expression flitting across his face. “Here’s hoping he grants you enough . . . fertility for conception then. I myself have intercessions with Anapa, of course.”

“Of course,” Loki agrees, “I shall not keep you from such important duties.”

The Vizier shifts his gaze to Star, and Loki gives her hand a discreet squeeze for courage; she lifts her head and meets the man’s gaze.

“So pale and fair,” the Vizier murmurs. “Like one already dead. Unusual, yes, but not without beauty. What is your name, child?”

“Jamilla,” Loki interrupts smoothly, “She is of the north as I am myself.”

The Vizier shoots a glare at him, eyes gleaming a brighter yellow now. “Let her speak for **herself** , Usi. Even a foreigner such as you should have better manners.”   
Loki notes that the Vizier’s jaw has thickened, and his canines gleam in the dim torchlight of the temple. _Definitely ghoul_ , he thinks with mingled dread and disgust.

Star does her best not to wrinkle her nose at the man’s - _thing’s_ \- breath. _Where’s Scope when you need some?_ She takes a tiny step forward and bows. “I am named Jamilla, Lord Vizier. And sadly yes, the skin of Northerners tends not to darken easily in your southern rays.”

The Vizier steps forward and takes her hand, and the reek of his breath is terrible, his touch like ice . . . but Star finds overall she’s severely unimpressed. She’s touched colder hands - Loki’s - and the Draugr was taller, faster, and much uglier than this thing masquerading as a human.

He bows over her hand, but his eyes are narrowed at her as he straightens up. “May you enjoy your time in our fair city, Jamilla.” Though his eyes are clearly saying something much less welcoming.

Star bares her teeth in a smile equally insincere. “I am certain that I will. Thank you, Lord Vizier.” She wonders idly how the Vizier would react if she were to ‘Hulk out’ (‘Jotunn out’?) right now.

The Vizier’s yellowed gaze sweeps Loki with disinterest, before he turns away, the assistants scurrying at his heels.

“Such a _charming_ man,” Star comments in a low sarcastic voice to Loki. She wipes the hand the Vizier touched against her dress.

“And dangerous,” Loki adds, wrapping an arm around Star’s shoulders and guiding her back towards the main door of the temple. “He detests me because I will not create his likeness in stone for free, and because I am one of the few artisans in this city to look him in the eyes. So far he has made no public move against me, but the day is coming, I think. The Vizier is said to have the ear of the Pharaoh and I wonder if that may be a _literal_ truth.”

They step out into the open, the cool night air a blessing after the stuffy incense of the temple, and Loki guides Star back out along the route to home. “It seems my informant has either left for the night or more likely seen the Vizier and made himself scarce. Ah well, another time then.”

He stops their homeward walk after a few streets and listens carefully; yes, they _are_ being followed. Loki smiles a slightly dangerous smile and bends his head towards his pet, his whisper soft against her ear. “I think the Vizier has given us an escort, my jewel, and my question to you is this: would you prefer to run ahead, or stay and fight?”

She hesitates, but she supposes so long as she’s stuck with this Jotunn ‘feature’, she may as well get something good out of it. “I think I’ll stay. You’re hot as hell when you go all protective,” she tells him with a smirk.

Loki answers her with a smirk of his own as he draws a dagger, the blade gleaming faintly green in the dimness. He urges her into a shadowed alley, before following after her.

Star has just enough time to tap into enough anger to feel her hands turn heavy and cold, when there’s the dragging sound of footsteps and a figure lurches into the mouth of the alley.

Whatever the Vizier is, this thing is obviously kissing cousins to him; it reeks as badly as he did.  Its eyes glow yellow as it searches the alley, an inhuman snarl falling from its rotting lips when it spots them. It raises clawed hands and shuffles towards forward. 

Loki rushes it, cutting open the side of its neck with his dagger. It barely blinks, and nothing but an even fouler-smelling gas emits from the wound. It swings at Loki but misses, and Star takes the opportunity while it is distracted to come in and aim a jab at its midsection with her cold stone-plated fist.

The blow is enough to knock the thing off its feet, though it rolls back to standing shockingly fast.

The Jotunn cold spreads, crawling up Star’s arm, up her wrist and elbow, and she backs warily as the monster advances on her. She’s agile enough like this, but if her legs turn Jotunn and she ‘forgets’ how to walk again, she might lose any advantage she has.

Loki eyes the soulless shell and notes the man is still covered with dust from his grave. The Vizier has given this corpse a single order and until he is dismembered, he will continually try to attack. The answer therefore, is to let something bigger attack him. 

They are only a few feet from the river, and Loki waves his knife tauntingly at the shell, his tone mocking. “Come, dung of a jackal, are you so slow that even my piss outruns you?”

The husk sways between following Loki and taking a swing at Star, but she scurries over towards Loki, and he whispers to her, “The river. If we lure him there, the crocodiles will take him.”

She gives a slightly alarmed look at this plan, but Loki leans forward and laughs, which goads the corpse into moving their way. With little skips and jumps, Loki bullies the monster and brings him down to the edge of the dark water, wading in a bit and splashing. When the corpse is in it up to his knees, Loki turns and calls to his pet.

“Push it. HARD.”

She hopes he knows what he’s doing, because she’s getting slower and clumsier as the frigid stone plates bloom over more and more of her. They coat her now from fingertips to shoulders and down her back to her knees, and they’re still spreading.

But they also make her much heavier than normal, so it’s easy to slam into the thing’s back and shove it further into the river.

Star feels the stone crawling down her legs and coiling around her toes just as something under the water rubs up against her, nearly unbalancing her. 

_ Crocodiles, right. _

The thing in front of them disappears abruptly, its snarl cut-off when it is pulled down into the blackness of the river. A moment later and part of it reappears at the surface. “I think that was an arm,” Star remarks to Loki as he lopes over to her, splashing. Then the body part is grabbed and pulled underwater again. “Bon apétit,” she says to the churning rivers of the Nile.

That’s when something decides to try to take a bite out of _her_. She feels a little bit of pressure, though it soon releases. Apparently crocodiles are not all that into Jotunn tartare.

Lucky for her. 

Loki however, is aware of his flesh being vulnerable, so he shifts, allowing his legs to become stone as he turns to look towards the shore. Two more corpses are stumbling towards them, propelled, compelled by dark magic. This is more problematic, and he moves to put himself between them and Star. In stone, the crocodiles can do her no harm, but he isn’t at all sure what power the husks may possess.

“More trouble,” he murmurs to his pet who has turned and caught sight of the new menace. She rolls her eyes, and Loki finds that endearing. Here they are, caught between two different monsters and she is still making him laugh.

“What do we do?” she asks, and he thinks quickly.

“I will pretend to be bitten by the crocodiles, and go to my knees,” he tells her. “That should lure them in. Between us we should be able to pick them up and throw them further into the river.” 

He’s grateful there are no streetlights or large sources of illumination; to be seen in Jotunn form would be dangerous enough, but having witnesses to what would seem wholesale murder would be hard to explain. When Star nods, Loki gives a lovely cry and allows himself to tumble to his knees, the stone of them making him sink in the loose sand underfoot.

It seems to work, and the husks shamble eagerly towards him, splashing into the dark water in their haste. Loki watches them, waits . . . 

Gritting her teeth against the stench, Star grabs the nearest one. It used to be a woman, but its rotted face - complete with one eye dangling out against its cheek, _so gross_ \- wouldn’t entice anyone these days. It swipes at her face with its claws, growling, but Star relaxes and at last allows the stone free reign to cover her completely, the thing’s blow bouncing harmlessly off her armour.

Star feels clumsy and slow but the water does lighten some of her weight, and the zombie-or-whatever can’t hurt her no matter how it tries. She hurls it deeper out into the river, Loki following suit with the other monster right after her.

It’s difficult to see exactly what’s happening in the inky waters. She sees a flash of pale, tattered flesh breaking the surface at times, and at other times dark, scaled skin. But soon enough, the waters are relatively calm once again.

“There,” Star says at last. “Are there any more coming?” she asks Loki, who is scanning the banks of the river. He shakes his head. “Good, because as welcomes go, that one was very . . . smelly. I much prefer _your_ kind of welcome; me being spanked and then fucked into next week.” She smirks at him as she awaits his reply.

Loki laughs and wades out of the river, wringing what water he can from his clothing, and helps his pet onto the bank as well. He pulls her close and murmurs into her ear. “Soon enough, soon enough. First you need to shift back, unless you want to create the legend of living stone here.”

He steels himself to hold still, his own legs morphing back into Midgardian appearance in a quick flicker. Nobody seems to have paid much attention to the splashing in the river; the crocodiles are common enough, and few venture into the waters after dark anyway. Loki watches Star concentrate, her wet neckline a serious distraction as she does so. The shift is gradual, moving in patches along her skin, and when enough of her is back into familiar shape, he guides her back up to the street.

It annoys him that his spices are now ruined, and more so that the Vizer would try so blatant an attack, but these matters are best left for the daytime, when he can concentrate much more readily on them. At the moment it’s far better to return home and rest.

Or not. Loki considers Star’s words even as the two of them cross the threshold to Oon’s spluttering questions.

“An attempt to rob us,” Loki lies. “I will see to your mistress myself, and leave our wet clothing with Ata. If anyone calls before dawn, send them away; I have no use for visitors tonight.”

Such words make it clear they are not to be disturbed, and Loki knows they will be followed to the letter. He carries one of the oil lamps into the bedroom and closes the door firmly behind them.

Supper is waiting for them by the bed, and Star doesn’t hesitate to help herself. Between bites she tries to concentrate, but it’s no use -- half her stomach and lower back remains coated in plates of cold blue stone -- and nothing she tries seems to help.

“Goddamn it,” she mutters, setting the dish aside. She closes her eyes and tries to slow her breathing, but every time she does, she pictures those corpses coming at them, or the Vizier’s yellowed eyes; she feels her heart picking up speed and her hands curling into fists. Star peeks down the neckline of the new dress Loki handed her when they came in, then rolls her eyes. If anything, the Jotunn patches of skin are spreading _further_. 

“I’m starting to doubt that I can control this,” she grouses. _Maybe if I yell HULK SMASH and beat the hell out of something, preferably the Vizier! Get it out of my system._

Loki finishes his portion of the meal and notes Star’s distress with a flicker of concern--and guilt, if truth be told. Her metamorphic capacity is partially his fault, and clearly she is having trouble with it, so he clears his throat and sets the plate aside, waiting for her to look to him.

“Listen to me,” he instructs, keeping his voice gentle but firm. “Concentrate on my words and keep your focus here. You have done very well against the monsters and deserve a reward, pretty pet of mine.” As Loki speaks, he moves around behind Star and leans down, letting his aura overlap hers, providing comfort and a degree of influence. He can see the blueness begin to fade slightly as she follows his instructions, so Loki speaks again.

“You are brave and clever, but you are also . . . insolent. And willful. Normally I am patient with these attributes of yours but every now and again I feel the need to remind you that you are my pet, and not above correction, pretty Star. What sort of a master would I be if I didn’t remind you of that?”

Her breathing is quicker, and the stone skin shifts as his words take effect. Loki gently lets his hands hover a moment over her bare shoulders, and then he lets them drop heavily down, cupping them and allowing the cool of his skin to draw the heat from hers. A little thing, but the sensation is enough to make her nipples stiffen. He knows because from this angle he can certainly see them.

Star can’t stop a little gasp. _Uh-oh._ Still, she shouldn’t be surprised -- she did remind him about his first ‘welcome’ for her, right?

She bows her head but dares a little smile she’s sure Loki can’t see, since he’s behind her. Well, she thinks he won’t see. Pleasurable chill races up her spine to meet where his hands still rest on her, and her stone plating shifts again. There had been a few plates draping over the top curves of her behind, but now, as if in agreement with Loki’s goal, they slip up and away, leaving only an expanse of stone skin wrapped around her midsection, the strangest corset she’s ever worn.

Reaching up, she undoes the dress and allows it to course downwards and pool on the floor around her feet. “But which is the correction, and which the reward, my Dark Lord?”

Loki’s hands slide down her upper arms, stroking them softly as he savors the moment. “That will be up to you,” he whispers, and steps close enough to allow his erection to press through his shendyt to the cleft of her ass. Just a touch, a reminder of what is to come.

Literally.

Amused at his own internal pun, Loki shifts his touch, sliding his hands around his pet’s ribcage to cup her breasts, making sure his hands are warm now, and the heat comforting, His fingers toy against the curved skin, tracing aimless patterns until they touch her nipples, standing proudly. Loki rolls them between fingers and thumbs, applying enough pressure to be felt, but not hurt.

“Oh how you desire me,” he murmurs, and squeezes them gently, making her gasp a little. The little buds grow harder as Loki continues to fondle them in the light of the lamp.

“Was there some doubt?” she teases, arching her back to press harder into his hands. He chuckles in her ear and gives her a slightly harder squeeze. Star groans and allows her head to fall back against his hard chest.

Her hands almost automatically reach behind her, slipping between them to massage the growing bulge that’s pressing into her. “Seems _you_ desire something too, Loki.” She laughs, a little breathless, thinking about what he plans to do with her. _To_ her.

“Linen is too coarse for skin such as yours,” he tells his pet, and with a scrap of magic, a long strip of silk slides from his fingers. Working quickly Loki manages to slip it behind his pet’s elbows, weaving it around them and down her forearms, binding her wrists with the ends of it, tying it in a lovely bow. Now Star has her shoulders back, perky chest thrust forward in sweet lusty display. Loki steps around to admire the effect, well-aware of the erotic allure of it. He reaches to playfully tweak the nearest nipple between his knuckles before conjuring another soft band of silk in his hands.

It appeals to the sorcerer in him to do these little snippets of magic. They hardly count, barely scraping the general spell of transformation, and it’s fun to watch his pet’s eyes widen each time. She’s a bright woman and not easily fooled. He spins the feather-light silk in a little circle, his kohl-darkened eyes on her as he does so. “And another,” Loki smirks, making it coil like a cobra before flicking his fingers and shifting the silk to slide down one of his pet’s thighs. “But before that . . . “

He lightly drops to his knees and tugs her thighs apart, one long hand reaching to cup between them, caressing the damp curls there, his fingertips lightly tickling. His pet is aroused, yes, and the light trickle of her desire obvious. Loki weaves the silk between her legs and around each hip, forming a wicked little harness. The band is wide and flat against her cleft, pressing snugly against her clit, and he knows when he tugs on it, the pressure will definitely caress her.

Loki stands again, Star’s gaze tracing appreciatively over the lean muscles in his bare chest and arms, and she licks her lips without being aware of it. He moves behind her again, coiling himself around her, and she tenses with a little squeak as he tugs experimentally on the silken binding between her legs, grazing the little bundle of nerves there.

“Christ, you’re _evil,_ ” she purrs, well aware he’ll take it as a compliment.

“That I most definitely am,” he breathes laughingly into her ear. He takes her elbow, carefully steering her towards the bed. She knows what’s coming before he sits, pulling her down across his lap, and arranges her the way he wants. Her head and chest hang over one side of his lap, her legs dangling helplessly off the other, and her bare behind put on display, completely exposed for his punishment. 

Star squirms against his grip on her bound wrists, all too aware of the taut silk between her thighs growing wetter by the second. Still he delays, trailing delicate touches over her thighs, her shoulders, her neck, and across the soft flesh she knows he’s going to begin to abuse any moment now. She shudders and goes limp, her eyes closing as she waits.

It comes in a quick smack, the sting crackling through his palm. Loki pulls his hand away and watches the imprint flush across one rounded cheek. Two seconds later, when the full heat of it is just beginning to burn he hooks a finger around the sash and tugs. His pet jerks as the heat behind her and caress in front flush her with sensual overload. Loki waits for her shivering to slow a bit, and chuckles, letting his fingers slide up her back.

“Where I once saw blue, I now see red,” he tells her almost cheerfully. She moves to say something, but Loki runs a frosty fingertip back down along her spine, distracting her with the chill of it. He studies the other cheek, cocks his hand and delivers a hard smack on it, giving it a matching print. He counts in his head and on three seconds later tugs on the sash, this time harder than before.

She shudders again, rolling her hips in an attempt to respond, to increase the pressure pulling between her thighs, but Loki slackens the sash, savoring her frustration. It’s an art, really—keeping his pet aroused while frustrating her as well—and his own body is responding to the tease nearly as much as hers is. “And red again,” he muses. “How I _do_ get your blood flowing.”

The only answer to this is a growl, which makes him laugh. Loki chills his fingertips again, and reaches under to flick her nipple, circling it with the icy touch.   
Star gasps, squirming at the intense tingle but he’s already striking the first cheek once more, counting off four seconds this time before giving another too-brief pull of the sash across her nub. A desperate mewl escapes her before she can stop herself, and he’s obviously delighted with her reaction. Of course he does it again, heating the other cheek with a sharp slap and making her wait five full seconds this time before gifting her with his particularly frustrating brand of ‘reward’, wet silk massaging her just enough to whet her appetite before it loosens.

Well, Loki’s right about one thing. Somewhere in the proceedings, her Jotunn skin had completely melted away. Is having sex with him going to be the most efficient way to banish her Jotunn nature in the future? _Something tells me he won’t object,_ she thinks, another mewl curling from her lips as he strokes icy fingers lightly over the hot round of her behind, then down just low enough to tickle the slight rise of her mound.

Then he takes his hand away, deliberately leaving her unsatisfied, chuckling as she wriggles in vain. “You are _so_ going to pay for this when I’m the one holding the whip,” Star hisses unwisely, making sure to rub her side against the enormous bulge under his skirt. 

“Umm,” Loki murmurs, feigning a skeptical tone. It amuses him greatly, this defiant streak of hers, and he spanks her once more, aiming the blow lower, bringing a sting to the tender join of thigh and buttock as he does so. Loki does NOT pull on the sash, and his pet wriggles again grinding her mound against his knee. He lets her, watching her sensual wriggles with proud and possessive interest. “We can keep this up all night,” he informs her, “and probably shall until you yield to me, my pet. All I require is your pleading demand that I take you hard and deep, my jewel.”

He watches, feels her stiffen against him, her indignation and arousal clearly at war. Loki slides two fingers along the inside of her thigh, letting them meander up to brush the wide, wet strip of silk between them, and this time his fingers are heated. His pet gives a little groan, her hands struggling against their ties. “Ah-ah,” Loki warns her, and adds two quick smacks to her very pink ass. “How deliciously _difficult_ you are being tonight!”

“Takes one to know one,” she hisses back. It’s almost worth the two sharp smacks she receives in answer. She’s about to swear when he grazes his fingers along the silk between her legs again, just a little harder than before, and Star decides abruptly that it’s enough. The pain is skirting the edge of what she considers tolerable, and the same could be said for her frustrated arousal.

Besides she knows he is quite capable of carrying out his threat to punish and tease her all night even if he will also be punishing himself with the wait. The thought almost tempts her to abandon her resolve, to see if somehow _he_ will break first. But the dual aches she’s suffering won’t let her. Oh well, at least she can’t see his smug expression in this position.

“You win. Please, my prince, take me,” she groans as he starts to pluck teasingly at the sash again, rubbing the fabric oh-so-slightly against her nub. Her fingernails dig into her palms as she prays that he wasn’t lying when Loki said she could end this torment with such a plea.

Loki gives a low laugh of satisfaction, allowing himself a moment to gloat before lifting and shifting his pet until she is straddling his lap now, the two of them facing the same way, her legs dangling outside of his. “There now; was that so difficult?” he purrs into her ear, and slides his hands to cup the undersides of her thighs. “Your obedience has earned you pleasure,” Loki tells her and lifts her slightly.

The silk sashes slither out and up, rising to form a pair of loops hanging high in the air above the two of them, and the scent of musk wafts from their damp edges. Loki lifts Star up, encouraging her to grab the loops, which she does. He pulls apart his shendyt and strokes his heavy cock a moment before angling it between her parted thighs.

“Lower yourself as you wish,” he murmurs, and caresses her thighs. Star lets her grip relax a bit, allowing the head of his prick to slip thickly into her. Loki’s groan matches her own at the luscious _squeeze_ of it, the sweet, maddening sear of his hungry flesh pushing into her slick cleft. She hangs there a moment, teasing him, and then pulls herself up again, just out of reach.

He growls roughly, grabbing at her waist, and Star looks over her shoulder at his frustrated expression, batting her eyelashes. “But I’m confused, _Master_ , didn’t you tell me to lower myself as _I_ wished?” she asks coyly. _Turnabout is fair play, Loki._

“It is most unwise to tease me, little Star,” he snarls in her ear. She expects him to stab himself up into her, but he doesn’t move. The loops she was holding onto abruptly loosen instead, and she watches wide-eyed as they move like snakes, weaving around her wrists and binding them firmly together in front of her.

Loki stands, holding her easily, and he moves towards the bed. “I was willing to allow you some control, but as you have abused that privilege, now you must face the consequences,” he hisses, a shiver running down Star’s spine as he sets her on her feet at the edge of the bed, and then bends her in half, pushing her face and upper body down onto the mattress. More punishment, or is he about to sheathe himself wildly inside her?

The question is answered quickly when she feels Loki’s fingers roughly parting her cleft, followed by the hard thrust of his prick. The force of it nearly drives the breath from her, but she has no time to even protest as he settles into a steady rhythm, stroking in and out of her steadily. Her arousal flares, and within long, lustful minutes Star feels the weightless inevitable flare of an orgasm rocket through her, galvanizing her aching body. Her cunt tightens around Loki’s prick as waves of pleasure ripple through her.

He doesn’t stop, and to her surprise, his prick thickens, widening against her slick walls. Star tries to look over her shoulder but Loki’s hands are on them, holding her down against the mattress. He gives a low laugh and keeps pumping, his green eyes bright in their kohl shadows. 

“Another!” he hisses. His stroking slows a bit, but the added thickness of his cock rubs against hidden spots deep within her, and Star trembles with the new sensations. Her legs wobble and she tries to claw the mattress for support but her tied hands limit that.

In any other situation the animal noises she hears coming from her throat would embarrass her but she’s too far gone to care, her whole body tensing as Loki ploughs into her over and over. “Loki!” she gasps but he only laughs and arches his hips into her behind a little faster.

Star is teetering on the edge, needing that last nudge into the abyss. He must sense it, because he smacks her again on the ass, sending another shock of tingling heat racing through her body, before he curls his hand around in front of her to rub her clit.

She screams mindlessly, tightening in sharp pulses around him, and with a final thrust Loki groans and empties himself into her fevered depths, until his lust is quenched. 

Stinging drops of sweat are blurring her vision, and Star blinks them away as she tries to balance on quivering legs. “H-holy crap,” she croaks. Star clears her throat and tries to look back at him, but his hands, squeezing her shoulders a fraction too tightly to be comfortable, are still in her way. 

“More?” Loki purrs, “Are we sated?” He hopes not; it’s been a while since the two of them danced on the edge of madness this way. The sashes slither free of his pet’s wrists, but lie close, waiting to be used again. For the moment she says nothing, and he stretches himself over her slick spine, nipping the tender spot between her shoulder and neck, licking the salt off her skin before letting his teeth worry lightly there. The only sound is the soft hiss of the flame in the lamp, and the distant sound of the Nile flowing by. Loki wonders if Ata is listening somewhere, if the sounds he and Star are making is creating more lust throughout the house. It’s entirely possible; they both rather lose their inhibitions when rutting.

She’s up for another round if he is, but she wouldn’t mind a little break first. An interesting idea occurs to her as she studies the scraps of silk. “Sure. But first…” She pauses and reaches around to push gently at his hip.

He resists long enough to tease, then pulls out of her and backs up. Star picks up a damp length of silk and turns to him, jealous of his lazy elegance, while her knees are still threatening to give out any second.

“First _what_ , my jewel?” he lilts. It’s not quite a taunt, but her answering smirk clearly is, as she steps in front of him. He watches with curiosity and a growing amusement as she tugs his wrists together and winds the silk around them, knotting it firmly.

She steps back to admire the effect. “And we are overdressed yet _again_ ,” she growls with a mock sigh, reaching to undo the skirt-thing he’s wearing. She finds the knot and undoes it, allowing the fabric to slide down his hips. His cock is already twitching again, and the tip of his tongue emerges to moisten his lips as he watches her moving around him. 

“Time for your punishment, ice prince. I did warn you, didn’t I?” she reminds him in a throaty tone, sliding behind him and pushing him in the direction of the bed. He looks over his shoulder and bares his teeth at her, again opposing her just long enough to indicate who’s really in charge, then he does as she directs.

When he’s laid out to her satisfaction -- on his back on the bed, bound wrists resting on his belly -- she takes a moment to admire his lean nakedness and then she snags the remaining strip of silk from the rumpled sheets. She allows the cool silk, fragrant with her scent, to glide slowly over his skin, trailing it up one leg and down again, then up his belly and along his neck, both to tantalize him and to buy herself time to rest.

Loki growls low in his chest and catches the silk in his teeth the first time she drags it across his cheek, setting his teeth into it and eying her with feral intensity. The threatening promises in his gaze make heat stir low in her belly.

“Ah-ah. Not yet, ice prince. Patience is a virtue you should learn,” she chides him, tugging until he releases the silk. She pulls it towards his shaft, his hips bucking upwards as she wraps the silk loosely around him, trailing it slowly upward to the throbbing head.

She repeats the action many times, letting the silk slither along the veiny shaft, brushing it over the head, until she can see him straining against the tie at his wrists. Not enough to tear free, but only _just_ , a nearly-imperceptible rumble beginning low in his throat.

Grinning impishly, she takes the strip and ties it firmly around the base of his shaft, tying it into a pretty bow, then she sits back to admire her work. “Very nice, but oh, you seem impatient still, my love. Whatever are you thinking?” 

He bites his tongue, holding back his original thought and manages a smile at her. “Simply wondering if you’re enjoying yourself,” Loki murmurs. Having taken the edge off his lust it’s much easier now to relax and enjoy the show his pet is putting on, and to play along as well. His prick is more than ready to comply with any attention from her; that much is as always, true.

She arches an eyebrow at him and Loki can see she’s not sure if she likes his response or not. He tries to look properly submissive but it’s hard not to smile; Star may have tied him up, but the sashes are still under his control, ready to fly off at his slightest command. Loki rocks his hips up ever so slightly, distracting her with the sight of his cock arching up with its ridiculous garland. “Such a lovely Maypole you have given me,” he quips. “Or given where we are, an obelisk I suppose.”

_ Don’t flatter yourself _ , she barely resists quipping. She cocks her head and studies him, openly smirking. He does look fairly silly that way, so she relents, reaching to tug on one of the loose ends of the bow, pulling it free with deliberate slowness, and allowing the cool fabric to make one last circuit of the base of his shaft. Loki’s nostrils flare, but he otherwise stays still, watching her.

Star weaves the strip between her fingers, thinking. Wondering what might goad him back into action.

Deliberately, she turns her back, presenting him with an unobstructed view of her still-pinkened rump. She strokes the curve of one rounded cheek as she murmurs in a sultry voice: “What am I thinking? Well, it’s been quite some time since I let you take me _here_.” She drifts her fingers closer to the puckered opening, looking over her shoulder at him through lowered eyelashes.

The move makes him twitch, and inwardly smile; _well-played_ , Loki thinks, and allows his gaze to linger on the teasing offer before him. He purses his lips and gives a soft groan before speaking up. “How very . . . underhanded of you, Precious One. I accept. You will need . . . comforting though. Allow me to prepare the way.”

He curls up to a sitting position, the silk sliding free from his hands as they move to gently cup Star’s hips, guiding her to replace him against the mattress. She allows him to move her, her slightly sardonic expression tinged with anticipation as well, and he kisses her deeply, his tongue promising more to come. Then with light, teasing hands, he strokes his fingers along her thighs, parting them before kneeling behind her.

Wet long strokes along her inner thighs. It’s fun to delve along her cleft, teasing as best he can with his tongue, and Loki plays with her bud before sucking little wet kisses along her lips. Star squirms, and he lets one hand slide to toy with her clit before shifting his attentions across the tender little bridge between cleft and ass. A few nibbles here and her squirms become more insistent. Loki savors the earthier flavors of her skin, pleased that their time in the Nile has allowed this. He lets his beard tickle a bit, and then kisses the sweet pucker of her ass.

Lovely. His pet is a beautiful little creature and even this, a place most Midgardians regard with disdain is just as delicate and appealing as any other. Loki lets his tongue flirt with the little mauve ridges, flicking and teasing them sweetly as his pet gives little squeals and groans of delight. So much sensitivity, so much passion! More kisses follow, and he presses a finger against the pucker, feeling it give to his touch.

His other hand is busy, making little circles around her stiffening bud, feeling the honeyed drip of her slickness flow freely now. Loki allows himself a moment of sweet, mad adoration as his cock swells in hungry anticipation.

Star shivers, not even trying to stifle the sounds spilling from her lips as Loki’s finger moves in slow spirals, back and front. When she feels him press more insistently against her, she clears her throat and helpfully suggests: “The Notyr?”   
His hair brushes against the curve of her ass as he nods. “Of course, my jewel.” She sees him pluck the little jar from mid-air from the corner of her eye, and the scent of the lotion wafts to her nose as he uncorks the bottle. He slathers a generous portion of the salve into her skin, massaging it gently into sensitive flesh, and Star gasps as his fingertip slips easily into her.

“Snug, but as your desire grows, seducible,” Loki tells her, nipping the back of one thigh. He continues to move his hands, feeling her tension shift, her lithe body responding to every deliberate caress, and he gloats. It’s a good thing his pet has her head down, her hair around and loose, for if she saw his expression Loki knows she would either chide or tease him. And yet it speaks the truth; he is proud, delighted, gratified to create such wanton desire in her. The way Star rolls her hips and groans; the way she draws in quick breaths all speak to his skill . . . and her trust in him.

His finger has gone deeper, and now two, stretching her patiently, creating sweet sensations further intensified by the Notyr. After a while she buck her hips up and hisses at him, “Oh come on, come ON!” Loki takes a breath himself, all too aware of his body, his prick ready to slide into her. He shifts and guides himself, pressing the thick head against the slickened pucker, admiring the view before gently pressing himself in.

Surely the strange animal noises she’s hearing aren’t coming from her? But they continue as Loki moves ever so slowly, deeper into her. His hands are like ice on the hot, still-pink skin of her ass, spreading her wide apart for him as he presses in farther, filling her.

Star presses her face to the mattress, pushing back against him, shivers following in the wake of one of his hands as it ghosts up the length of her sweat-slick back. At some point they both realize he can’t go any deeper in, and he pulls back just as slowly, her muscles clenching at just how _good_ it feels.

He begins a torturously slow pace, sliding in and out of her, until she presses back against him, silently begging for more. “Oh God,” she groans when one of his evil hands slides over her hip, cupping over her mound and grinding lightly over her swollen little nub.

Loki settles himself into a steady stroke, reminding himself not to push too hard or too deeply as he lets the pleasure build within him once more, rising with each throb through his loins. His pet’s slick cunt is frothing now, dripping down her curls and all over his hand, and the heat of it makes him shiver. Three fingers roll over Star’s clit, and she convulses, making her ass clench tightly around his cock, her harsh moans soaked with lust.

He fights it; Loki wants to stretch this raw passion out but his body defies him and his lean stomach muscles tighten as the surge of his seed erupts from his deeply buried cock. Spurt after spurt erupt deep within his pet’s ass, and for the first time in ages Loki feels so swept up in the breathless pleasure that he cries out, body vibrating against Star’s. His eyes close—

And for a moment—a strange breathless pulse of time, Loki feels an oddly familiar sting in his belly. It’s gone in an instant, lost as he slumps over his pet’s back trying to catch his breath and not fall down. His hands slither over her damp flanks to steady himself and Loki realizes Star is just as shaky as he is. Quickly he withdraws from her body and pulls her to him, allowing them both to collapse on the mattress in a wet, hot mess for the moment. Lust is delicious, but hardly clean at times, he knows. Perhaps that is what makes it so intimate and so strange.

He nuzzles the side of her face, licking a little of the sweat there, enjoying the salt before speaking. “That was . . . _wonderfully_ filthy.”

She snickers, too spent to do anything more for the moment and they rest together, cooling a bit in the faint breeze from the window overlooking the Nile.


End file.
